Uncharted
by Everbay
Summary: People go through growth & recession- When Ron turns to abuse for control on Hermione, she turns to rekindle her lost fire to somewhere and someONE unfamiliar. Fleur Delacour. Fem-Slash, first attempt; very unPotter-like COMPLETE R&R (HGFD)
1. i

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Uncharted.

Premise: The thing of a soul is—it recognizes its completion, no matter what the race, skin color, or.. sex a person may be. This story is about two people, who happened unto each other in unusual circumstances; confused and most of all human, this story will attempt to tap into the very recesses of our psyche and most importantly—our free will. Now.. these are teenagers- so.. the hormones are rather abundant. If it offends you, look elsewhere.. Keep an open mind, comments, reviews and questions always appreciated

Disclaimer: Simply put, these are JK Rowling's babies and I aim to honour them as such-- but this is a FanFiction. It's to be taken with a grain of salt.

i. 

..Seeing you act like you're somebody else

Gets me frustrated..

~Avril Lavigne~

"I could do this all day.." 

The comfortable silence that had settled between the pair was broken with those few words. His tone was gentle- pressing unto the cusps of a dream. It was a sound that she decided- was… pleasant; liken to that of the first rays of Summer's Sun. She lay there contemplating movement, but was too enthralled with the current activity being imparted on her. She didn't want to FEEL this way- despite what her body was saying; it was as if, she were weak, that her independent nature was all but destroyed- but he had asked, he had begged- and _she _relented.. Her Bed-Mate's fingers were whispering over her flesh as they coursed along the length of her arm, sending unsolicited goose-pimples in the wake of his exploration.

His lips crested into a lopsided smile as she elicited a tendered laugh. Her sound was so musical, so pure, it took his very breath away. "Tickled, did it..?" his deep basso chimed. His mate turned her head a smidgeon and buried her face into the down pillows in vain attempts to stifle the now free-falling trill of her laughter. With a gasp taken, she finally rolled from her side to rest upon her back as she looked up to the firey haired youth, who was now.. pinning her upon the mussied beddings.

"RON! Really now.. must you continue on so? You KNOW very we—" The young woman was soon hushed with a pair of chapped lips pressed unto her own. They were hungry, she could tell. In a test of wills the girl pressed back, fighting for dominance before placing her hands upon his chest and gently digging her finger nails onto his bared ivory-hued skin. She broke the dangerously maddening kiss. Leaving her just as ragged in breathing as he. Ron Weasley dipped his head once more, aching for another round. "Stop.. RON.. no..We'll be LATE.." came her desperate plea. 

Grudingly, he grunted his reply and shrugged his broad shoulders. He relented and allowed the girl beneath him a breadth of movement. With a coy smile, the young woman rose from the entanglement of their bodies and placed a chaste kiss upon Ron's temple, "Thank you.." she murmured. Easing his sinewy frame upon the tattered remnants of the mattress, Ron Weasley afforded himself the luxury of raking his wandering eye over his companion, his best friend, and now.. "Oy… dress slowly, mm? S'a least you could do 'Moine."

With a lobbed glance form over her shoulder Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at her lover, "HO-NEST-LY".. She gawffawed at him all the while she slipped into her rule-regulated attire. She had changed so much, thought Ron, continuing to take into account every little nuance that was Hermione Granger. Her hair was now a healthy shade of Mahongany, with traces of tan glinting in the sunlight. Much more tame now than when they'd first met- silken to the touch. Definitely one of his more.. favorite spots to visit. His eyes coursed along her now.. athletically toned frame- certainly her summers abroad on those muggle beaches had done wonders for her. 

Her flesh was sun kissed. But not to the point of being bronzed, complimenting her amber hued oculars. Hermione's lips her full tinged with a gentle blush. Much more taller than he recalled, and.. very well developed- becoming more than that lanky girl of yester-year. Ron hadn't realized how long he was staring before his reverie was broken by her semi-frantic waving before his eyes, "Did you hear anything I've said then?" He nodded mutely. "Right." Came her unbelieving statement, "C'mon- before we get an ear full of it from Harry and the others that we've been more than_ JUST studying.._" As Ron drew his form from the confines of the bed-sheets, he couldn't help but smirk at Hermione's comment; the woman refused to call their dawn breaking trysts anything more than. It amused him. 

Ron took his time as he dressed, much to the dismay of his bedmate and finally managed to straighten himself decently enough; before using his large paws to rake through his ginger-colored tresses, in idle hopes to tame the chaotic spill. 

"It's alright you know Hermione- _snogging _isn't a curse word." Ron cooed before making his way from his prefect bedroom towards the Great Hall. "Well.. c'mon then, we're late Ms Granger."

__

December: Egypt- 5 months ago

She had no time to react- she had already been laid upon her back. The tremendous force of the blow still resounded throughout her form. Her mind screamed for her to move, but it was to no avail. Her eyes were watered, disorienting her more. Then, she tasted it.. the coppery liquid that began to pool in the back of her mouth. Her blood- it reminded her all too soon about her mortality. But her thoughts were all but thrown back to the now. Quick footsteps echoed in the expanse all before a harsh guttural growl pierced the dimmed area..

__

"Ecce SIGNUM!" Came the saving grace-sound of her partner. She hadn't realized when he appeared, but it mattered not- she was saved from a perilous journey to Egypt's underworld. The silver-topped half-breed amazingly managed to peel her prone form from the packed earth. Time enough to witness her partner's spell to be cast upon their shadowy opponent. The hulking mass devoid of light, though would not be had. Mammoth paw-like appendages afforded swipes to the fore, in effect throwing the spell-caster's incantation off. "BLASTED! Get up, woman! It's getting away!"

All she recalled was the red-headed man bounding off after that God-forsaken creature; but with her insides burning from the previous assault, Fleur DeLacour rose to her lofty height. Steadying herself as best she could before murmuring a soft incantation and disapparating from her current locale. Because of the bond that she shared with William Weasley.. her partner in more ways than one.. she reapparated alongside the gruff man. When the plume of smoke had cleared Fleur's form braced itself against the nearest wall of rock.

"Bill.. did ve--?"

"..no, DAMMIT Fleur. –WE-.. YOU did not! You just bloody sat there! We had it in our GRASP!" Bellowed William.. his face flushed pink from his rage. It almost equaled his hair color, thought Fleur. His hair was pulled back, but straggled wisps from the endeavor sprung up in odd spots, giving him an incredulously horrific appearance. No longer the handsome relic hunter she had grown to.. care about. He paced before her, still clenching his wand in his left hand, as his veins pulsed at the nape of his neck. Her own temper rose.

Her magnificent silver-crystal eyes flashed in warning as she slowly began to close the gap between herself and he. "Chargin d'amor, oui?" she purred out lowly, "For yuir info'mation , love.. I 'andn't known dat my life being in danjour was so.. miniscule-- I WAS DOWN, William.. I din't 'ave a choice!" her voice- to Bill, was a low contralto, known to have brought on a certain.. 'feeling' to his form, was now grated with an edge, animalistic. Fleur's silver-blue tresses, pulled into a loose ponytail.. dovetailed to the small of her back. Liken to a whip readying to strike. 

Bill Weasley's posture stiffened as Fleur neared. She was beautiful.. the sensuality of her walk to the tone of her voice, it's the innate curse of the Veela. But.. this one is still half human- so the spell if she were trying to weave one, fell short. He hated her at this moment. Blind rage filled his gut as he leered and dipped his head closer.. cerulean storms met a sea of evergreen. "Failure in this relationship.. I can stand- Failure in work.. I can do without- We are the subsidiary of the Ministry, DeLacour. We are expected to find this objects and return them to the magic-world.. If you can't grasp that concept then- I expect your resignation on my desk no later than 2 this day, luv."

She would not.. COULD not show her emotions. The weight of his words slowly slipped past that tough resolve. Apparent in her eyes. But she be damned if he would let him get the upper hand. "Consider it done, Mr. Wees-ly. At least.. you were kind enough to acknowledge what we _had.._" she stated coldly. Fleur knew that Bill Weasley had always been in love with his work. First and foremost. She had hoped.. one day that there would be room enough in his heart to allow another. But.. it was hopeless from the very first time they had laid eyes on one another. Grasping her tendered side, the ¾'s Veela whirled upon her planted heel-- and eeked out her spell..

A gentle plume of smoke billowed about her. Her eyes were transfixed on Bill's back. During their time together-- despite the uproarious fights, it had been a complimentary relationship. Both driven with passion for their magics, both having sharp minds for tasks that required intricate spell-casting. With a determined nod to no one save herself, Fleur had made a decision.. Though no longer working for Bill Weasley, she would find her own niche. And truth be told.. she did get a thrill with the magical relic hunting. Were it not for her, the majority of the relics would still be hidden. She'll just have to recruit the best from the world's most.. non-descript school of wizardry.

She's been far to long away from home. The need to see her beloved sister and family once more burned into her. There was a new pain settling on her heart, much more prominent than the physical pain that had been dealt to her. Fleur suddenly felt drained, her eyes listing closed just a smidgeon, gave her a brief reprieve from surreality of what just occurred. It's time to go home.. there will be time enough to gather her things from the loft she had shared with Bill. Later. So as the smoke swallowed her whole it gave her time to let her pride slip, and shed a few tears.

__

Present Day.. 

"Finally- Where in Sam Hein have you two—" The question never needed to be spoken, realized Harry. The dark haired 17 year old glanced between his two lifelong mates before allowing a slight curl to the corner of his lips to be seen. Ron, had by this time, turned a healthy hue of pinkish-red, but beaming stupidly none the less. Hermione, took the more subtle route- aversion of the eyes. Taking his spectacles from the bridge of his nose, he began buffing the lenses, "I guess that.." Harry mewed, motioning towards Ron's cheekiness, "very well answers _that_..." glancing then to Hermione, after situating his glasses back upon its proper perch, the once gangly youth clucked his tongue upon the roof of his mouth; in effect chastising the young prefect. All to which the girl offered a roll of her eyes and a huff- sending her soft wavy tendrils of hair from her countenance. 

"Get off it Harry- It's not as if you and Gin haven't been _studying _for long hours as well.." retorted Hermione. Her deep rosewood gaze evenly met his bespectacled ones- a slight show of mirth playing in them, tainted as well with a mildly growing irritation- she afforded a glance to Ron, who in his stead looked as if he were gloating; but it didn't help the fact that inwardly, she really had tried to be _good _that day.. but always.. it always turned to a bloody romp. She tousled her head to wake herself from her reverie.. 

She did have to say, though not aloud, that Harry Potter did grow up and fill out rather well. All those years of Quidditch had certainly done him good. Lending the athlete a healthy skin-tone. His hair once the bane of his existence, though still unruly, gave him an almost ruggedly debanaire appeal. Harry's form was exceptionally lean, liken to that of a tennis player's build. Compared to Ron's long frame. Young Weasley sprouted over the past few years, losing that baby fat that clung about his features. The freckles that once dotted over the expanse of his cheeks and nose had all but vanished. He too, noted Hermione had come unto his own, sculpting those muscles for use as Gryffindor's keeper. His build was a tad thicker than Harry's, but suited for its purposes. Some purporses- remained unmentioned, of course.

"Och! Didja 'ave t'go there Hermione? 'Earing that about my sister!" stated Ron in exasperation while poking his ears in vain. All before sniping his glance to Harry, "Oye- Just keep in mind, she's still my sister, one toe out of line, 'Arry..an', I'll be personally givin' y'what for." Harry in turn raised his hands to either side of his frame, but before he could offer any assurances, a set of waifish arms had snuck about Harry's waist. Garnering an arched brow from Ron. Ginny chimed in after pressing her lips to Harry's cheek, "Don't be daft Ron- Mr. Potter has been nothing but a _gentleman_.." grinning chesirely, "Course during the snogging tho—" With that, Ron bounded off after Hermione, who had by this time, made her subtle exit- not before exchanging a look of thanks with Ginny for the distraction.

"Now why'd you go and do that Gin?"

"because.. he's my brother."

"And..?"

"And what? I'm required to antagonize him, luv."

Harry eased himself about to face the girl and offered a sigh, "Gin.. they think we've.. you know.. done what they've done." Ginny Weasley offered a consolatory smile as she whisked her fingers through Harry's bangs.. shoving them from his eyes, "Then it's their problem. Harry-- it means more to me that you've respected my wishes then what everyone else may think. Let them. I _know _the truth." The deeply auburn tressed Gryffindor, gently tugged at Harry's hand, urging him to follow her through the hallowed Great Hall. "C'mon let's see if we can find my oversexed brother.. before he throws a coniption that his _poppet _escaped his grasp."


	2. ii

_ii._

The Great Hall was alive this day, teeming with activity and dense with the sea of bodies that covered the floor.  The majority of populace of which, were made up of 7th year Hogwarts students.  All jockeying for positions at the most prime locales of situated booths.  The Ministry of Magic-, of course, sponsored most booths, since it was the one institution that was responsible for the employment of the whole of the Wizarding world.  At one particular booth- the illusion that stemmed from it was, sufficed to say awe-inspiring.  It was tucked at the far eastern corner of the Great Hall.

Plume of whirling dust devils sprung up before the booth, as sloth moving Camels traversed- (the beasts dotted the rolling sand dunes that APPEARED to cover the spans of the floor-space allowed) edged in view and then vanished within the blink of an eye.  The air was infinitely warmer here, the light, excruciatingly brighter- perhaps to emulate the Sun's natural beating rays.  A few palm fronds, timed at every 10 minutes or so, bloomed at different areas of the exhibit; but nothing could compare to the magnificence of the harem like tent that was centered between two towering sand dunes.

It was a striped tent, colored in a deep burgundy and silver, swayed as if being rocked by the very same 'invisible' wind that kicked up the devils that circled near proximity.  Propped at the apex of the tent was a singular triangle-shaped flag, emblazoned with the French symbol for the _'flower'_.  Hanging right above the flapping doorway was a wooden plank that seemed blank, but as the light played upon its surface would be inlaid with golden lettering that read: _"The Mystical Unknown, R&P, Co.".  _

For its exuberance, there were not too many that flocked to this corner of the Hall.  Not that the young prefect that stood before it minded.  It gave her time to mull over her options.  Hermoine had already and expectantly turned in her resume to multiple vendors.  All, ranging from the _Aurors _position to _Charmer Extraordinaire_.  Threading her fingers through her wavy hair, the young muggle witch lobbed a wary glance over her shoulder, spot-checking if you will, for her rather obsessed laden beau- Ron Weasley.  She just needed time to breathe on her own. The Griffyndor prefect had been ever thankful for Ginny's intervention.  Giving her enough leeway to take her leave as the lot began to quibble amongst themselves.  Before leaving, possessively Ron had hooked his fingers through the loops of the skirt's waist-band, holding her to him as if she were some kind of leashed pet.  That aggravated the young woman.. But as always, she had been reluctant to point that out to the ever hormone induced Weasley.  Primarily.. she hated the confrontations, and the guilt that usually stemmed from them.

Seeing that Ron hadn't found her just yet..  Hermoine turned her gaze upon the immaculate set up.  Like the other booths, it was utter eye-candy.  More than anything, it was for the simple fact that the _The Mystical Unknown, R & P, Co.-  _had NOTHING to do with the Ministry of Magic (saying so on the enchanted plank).Another prospective company going against the monopolizing juxtapose of the Ministry.  This idea of going against the norm, ignited a flurry of anxiousness within the straight and narrow Hermoine Granger.  Minute as it may seem to others, it's a step to her wont of being independent and out from the shadows of her two compatriots.  With a tendered glance to the plethora of employment offers and resumes clutched within her hands, Hermoine took a tentative step forth, away from the normalcy of Wizardom and her Muggle upbringing.  Another step, heading towards the unknown-  Literally and figuratively.

"I would 'ave never guessed you be movin' from thet spot.."   

It was a feminine purring lilt- coming from behind her.  It was distinctly European.  The sound of which tingled over Hermoine's ears-  very welcoming but, laced with sarcasm.  She inclined her head before taking a glance over her shoulder towards the source of the contralto tones.  Her cocoa eyes were met with deep cerulean storms gazing back to her in jest.  They were haunting, but.. playful at the same time.  The closer Hermoine dared to look, the further she fell into the pool of blue and further under their spell.  Those eyes burrowed into the very center of her, threatening to reveal every little secret that the young prefect held in her being. That is.. if she _had _any to divulge.  It wasn't till a soft tendril of Silver-Fawn had cascaded to the fore, in effect obscuring those eyes, did Hermoine shake herself back to the now.  The prefect knew that face, even if the majority of the woman's features were hidden behind the barka she sported.  The eyes, and especially the mannerisms of this person sparked a bit of recognition within Hermoine.

The woman beneath the swath of draping wear eased her infinitely taller frame past the young prefect.  She walked with a feline like grace, even with being swaddled in the Lawarence of Arabia like garb.  No doubt to fit the motif of the booth's set up.  Hermoine's nostrils flared a smidgeon, picking up on the distinct Lilac smell of the other woman's perfume.  Subtle.  As the garbed woman pivoted upon her heel to regard Hermoine.. the young prefect stiffened.  Her head began inclining subconsciously, to meet the Mysterious One's appraising once-over.  Hermoine's breath caught at the pit of her throat, causing her to swallow-  making her appear more nervous than she was.  By the look of the woman's silver laden eyes, the young Gryffindor new she was smirking..  She apparently thrilled at making the younger woman twitch.  Ire rose in Hermoine's form.  A tender blush crept over the girl's cheeks, running across the bridge of her nose.

"Well?  Are you going to stand there all bloody day and gaffaw?  Not a way to recruit, is it."  Hermoine's voice cracked tersely.

No response was given.  The silence that strung between the pair was unbearable… to Hermoine.  The Cloaked figure though.. took it in stride.  With nary a glance given, she turned about, leaving Hermoine befuddled, and irked.  She dovetailed the woman when they entered the tent.  The loose-lipped flaps of the tent swallowed the Barka clad figure, but were hastily brushed aside by a very flustered young prefect seeking entrance.  Once the girl entered the dimmed inner sanctum, she was met with a wafting smell of Sandalwood among the whispering tendrils of incense induced smoke.  Hermoine's eyes adjusted in accordance, noting all the worldly possessions that the tent held.  It was as if.. she were thrown to another place and time.  At one section of the tent, there hugged vases from the Orient, to Egyptian Talismans, and from the British Isles- runes. This was a trove of wealth in knowledge..  As Hermione's eyes continuously scanned the room.. they were finally drawn upon the Cloaked figure before her.  The woman had her back to her.

"..But _thet_ was."

"Excuse me?"

"Dat is 'ow.."

Looking baffled, Hermione's mind raced to decipher what this heavily accented woman was trying to convey.  With a tousle of her head the girl eeked out her response.

"You're referring to my earlier comment, then.. The query of how you recruit."  She asked

The woman once more.. didn't answer.  Irritated by the whole display, she crossed her arms over her chest, making her angst known.  She grunted.  And the woman in turn allowed her shoulder to quake.  Indicative of a laugh.  The woman tugged at the Barka covering her face, letting the healthy spill of her Silver hued hair to cascade to the small of her back

"Think it's funny, do you..?  I've mind to let you know this is not PROFESSIONALISM you're proffering me.. And—"

Hermione's words never finished, the threat never voiced as the woman then tugged at the Barka covering her features.  In effect letting a healthy spill of her silver mane cascade to the small of her back.  In this instant, it finally clicked in the Gryffindor's mind as to the identity of this cloaked figure.

"I should have known."

"You should 'ave.  But you were seeming preoccupied, no?"  Fleur responded softly, then pressed on,  "By what..?"

"Why are you here, Fleur."  Hermione brushed off the query, not willing to tell the haughty half-breed of being held captive by her eyes.  The thought of which sent a plethora of shudders down her spine.. Confusing shudders.  On the one hand, knowing that it was the eyes of a WOMAN that held her attention.. didn't sit with her, but losing herself in them.. was an entirely a complexity in itself.  Something that Hermione had no temperament to deal with.  At least, not _now. _

"D'eternal question, oui?  Why are ve all 'ere, placed on dis eart' for reasons beyon' our scope.."

"no I meant-"

"I _know _what you meant, chere."  

Taking her time, Fleur DeLacour then shrugged the cloak that rested about her shoulders, off.  Like water rolling of the back of a duck, the garb pooled about her feet.  Hermione canted her head to one side, taking the opportunity to afford a quick once-over of the woman before her.  Fleur had tanned immensely allowing the silver strands of her hair to stand out more prominently than naught; but it complimented the French-maiden.  Every minute movement was not only elegant but assured.  Of course the only time she recalled seeing Fleur, was at the Tri-Wizarding tournament and the Yule Ball so many years hence.  She had always, to Hermoine _(and those piteously enraged hormone induced males),_ seemed to be the WORDLY woman.  Hermoine's fleeting view of Fleur then, is as it stood now.. irritable.  How can someone be so bloody perfect?  Even her snipes are well timed.

Slowly, as if in cinematic fashion, the silver topped woman, pivoted upon her planted heel, and faced the young girl before her.  Mimicking Hermione's stance, Fleur eased her arms over the full of her chest, breathing evenly as she leveled her gaze upon the girl.  _Girl.._ she is not that anymore, sang Fleur's inner mind.  

_'Not yet a woman, but beyond the grasps of youth,  and still holding certain disdain for you, Fleur_.  _But then again.. most everyone, does.'_

During her time with William Weasley, Fleur had allowed her cool exterior to warm.  Perhaps too much, letting herself go vunrable.  And for that mistake, Bill repaid her with a lover's stake through the heart.  Though she may yearn to shed that tough exterior.. it was plain to see, by the look of Hermione Granger's eyes, Fleur was and forever will be the Ice-Queen.  With her jaw tensing at the thought, the Silver tressed half-breed decided, with finality-  she'll give what the audience wants and expects.

Leaning forth, with both delicate hands planted upon the rough finish of the table that had separated the two, Fleur took on a more ominous presence; wisps of her hair trailed from her bronzed shoulders to the fore; her eyes lit with a dangerous fire- something which caused the prefect's brows to knit together, then ease.  Fleur knew, with that little display, Hermoine had tried to steel herself, readying for somekind of confrontation.  It only served to heighten a sense of challenge within Fleur.  She had forgotten how much she LOVED making people _quiver_.  The French woman's lips curled gently before forming a slew of words,

"I tink d'more apropos question, Ms Granzher is _what are YOU doin' 'ere._  I's plain t'see, I'm 'ere to 'ffer employmen'." A pause, "_Sit._"

She was unsure of herself-  Hermione's glance shifted from the seat just in reach and tucked at the desk before her, to Fleur, who was expectantly waiting.  The ire still burned in her.  How dare this woman order her, and how dare she look upon her like she is less than _she. _ She was smug. Angrily, Hermione grabbed the back rest of the wooden chair, yanking it towards her.  Her mind chided her, reminding that a show of emotion at this caliber would only serve to empower Fleur DeLacour.  She shook with an inner fury, her eyes not once leaving Fleur's neutral face.

"Treat me with respect I deserve, or you will see nothing but the soles of my shoes as I take my _leave_."

A disarming smile crested over Fleur's lips.

"..But you won't.  Oddervise.. you'd've been gone by now, oui?  Sometin', dough, keeps you 'ere..  An' I wan' t'know _what._"  A breath was taken, before Fleur motioned with a slight cant toward the seat, "Sit.."  Hermione arched her brow, daringly at Fleur.   "…_please._" Added Fleur cautiously.

Hermione wasn't aware of how long the still-quiet was drawn.  Nor, how long she was staring at Fleur.  But.. those crystalline eyes, threatened to take her again tearing her gaze from those stormy orbs, the muggle-born girl settled into the roughshod chair.  Fleur was right.  By all accounts.. she would have left, with no qualms, were it not for her Pride being at stake.  She's _never _backed from a challenge.  To turn her back on this.. and to return to the 'outside', would be liken to.. Harry letting Voldemort have his way.

This was _her _obstacle.  She be damned if she would be intimidated now.

"Thank you.." murmured Hermione, albeit guardedly.

An impasse had been reached between the two women.  Fleur couldn't afford to let Hermoine, leave.  She had been one of very few who had shown an intrest in her little entrepenurial adventure, and in order to bring this to fruition and stop the wayward taunts of her former co-workers at the Ministry (not to mention, showing Bill, she was more than just a body), she needed to play her cards right.  Once Hermione took the offerance, Fleur eased into her own seat, threading her fingers through her silken tresses before having her fingers join the other set, lacing them together.

"..Why?" prompted Fleur.

"Because this looked promising.  Dare I say.. exciting.  Isn't it?  What, with all these _trinkets _brandished here.."

"More dan, sometimes, oui.  Is more dan jus' bein' a- how you say..a _desk zhockey_. Is far from bein' normal.  Far call from de Ministry."

"I'm not looking for that, Ms. Delacour.  I.. don't want to be stymied.  I.. I'm tired of being _normal._"

Hermione's hands were getting damp, why she was divulging this to someone she barely knew, plus maybe disliked a bit, was beyond her.  But it was as if all these feelings had bubbled to the surface, and just needed to be let loose, and Fleur was the only person in near proximity to let loose on-  Ron wouldn't've understood, and Harry… always had more _important _things on his mind.  She sat on the edge of her chair, and placed forth the bevy of offers and resumes she had procured from the fair outside.

"..This.. this and this.. all require to be holed up, seated at a bloody desk, preening through paperwork, 16 inches deep.  To be analyzed, picked apart-  I can't DO that for the rest of my life, now can I?  But I'm expected to.  Everyone says so.. everyone KNOWS I'll be the next Hogwarts Headmaster, or at least head of the bullocking Ministry.

Throughout Hermione's schpiel, Fleur heard a tinge of panic and desperation in the youth's voice. If anything, pity was felt.  But pity, wasn't shown.  The elder woman, propped her arm upon the arm-rest of her chair, before cradling the butt of her chin on her palm.  She arched her brow and carefully replied, "..An' you are 'oping dis would be your, refuge.. Someplace to escape to..?"  As much as she needed warm bodies in this burgeoning company, she won't pull in those that are unwitting, and half-hearted.

"Well.." answered Hermione

"Ms Granzher.. dis is a business, small one-  Not a refugee camp.." interjected Fleur

"No! No.. I _am _genuinely interested;  I _want _to prove to myself that I'm _more _than what people see.", pleaded Hermione.

Fleur rubbed the bridge of her nose as she crafted her next statement to the young prefect, "Do you e'en know what dis is about?  Dis is my own blood, sweat an' tears.  I'm betting you n'er 'eard about dis company, till today, oui?"

The girl fidgeted in her seat, while hands folded one over the other, "to be truthful.." she began softly, "no. BUT.."  Hermione shifted her gaze about the room, with her voice rising a tad as she gestured about, "All these things..these Ankhs for example, lead me to believe that you do more than just collect them, right?  These aren't real…They're replicas.  Ankhs are known to have immense mystical properties-  Enchanted one would even say."  Glancing back to Fleur, she once more met the woman's gaze.  No condescending undertones, or demeaning stares-  only a slight bob of the white-hot head for the girl to continue.

Easing from the confines of the chair, Hermoine became emboldened as she swept across the spance of the room, pointing out the trinket in question.  She was in her element,  someone actually willing to listen to what she had to say.  "The Ankh is a symbol of vitality, as well as longevity of life..  Only blessed for the Pharaoh-  A gift of the gods, I suppose.." her eyes traversed upon the replica, her fingers began to trail over it's surface, "no mortal would be deemed worthy enough to even harbour this.  Save for mystical.. magical creatures…"  She looked back to Fleur, "Like you.  I, being what I am.. cannot hold this.  So.. from that.. I _assume _what this company does, is search these things out…And.."

"..And, recover as vell as protec'."  Fleur by this time, had maneuvered herself to stand behind Hermione.  Her voice, low, almost.. ethereal.  "Where d'Ministry wishes to USE objects such as dese for.. God knows vat-  I try to return dem  to deir rightful owners, or.. land.  But.."

"Some.. do not agree with it, do they?  Isn't that what Ron's brother did as well..?"  Unconsciously, Hermione's eyes went half lidded.  But she felt the tendered warmth from behind her.  Fleur was close.  Perhaps closer than she realized…  Or it was the heat fo the room, beginning to get to her.  It was an odd sensation.  It must be the blasted Veela power being exhuded..  The girl snapped from her reverie as soon as Fleur responded.  Albeit, in a curt manner.  A manner which made Hermione look over her shoulder curiously.

"Bill.  Oui."  

"..That's right, you and he.."

Fleur lowered her icy hued gaze onto Hermione.  Her lips thinned, "…were co-workers.  Oui.  We 'ad a difference of _opinions_."  Hermione nodded quickly, obviously.. she had struck a chord she hadn't meant to.  "you like 'istory, Ms. Granzher?"  Fleur's voice was barely a whisper, the young prefect had to strain to hear the words she mewed out.  Hermione shut her eyes, lowering her head, the breathy sound of Fleur's voice was a sort of blanket to her senses.. absently.. she felt her body sway;  the heady smells of the room were getting to her, but more prominent than naught, was the lilac scent of Fleur's perfume.  Hermione wrapped her arms about herself, hugging her cloak about her- till she felt a hand come to rest upon the small of her back.

Her eyes shot open. She darted her gaze again to regard Fleur.  Their eyes locked.  The French woman, pursed her lips, " I don' tink you 'eard anything I said..Per'aps you need to sit, cherie..You are beginning to look piqued."  Fleur offered a gentle rub of the prefect's back;  moving from the close proximity.  As Fleur left, Hermione bit her lower lip, she needed to keep Fleur interested.  It was vital.  It was an ache. And she didn't understand why.

"..I love it."  Came the prefect's quick reprieve.

"Pardon..?"  Fleur, in the middle of jotting a few notes down on a piece of parchment, paused, "I'm about to send for nurse..  You're not looking well Ms. Granzher.  I'll not 'ave you faint in my tent..."

"No really.. just a little flushed.. more than likely from the incense…"  she chuckeled weakly, "You asked about History… I love it, Ms. Delacour, I eat.. and breathe it-  I can be so bloody useful here.  I.. would like this opportunity to work alongside you. Hermione's jaw tensed as she contemplated using the following words, but before she realized what she had mused out.. it was too late to take it back..

"If …if _you'll _have me.."  

_Thanks for the comment(s)… of course a whole lot of this is just a work in progress.._


	3. iii

__

iii.

"…Pretend that you're feeling-

…A little more pain."

~Faith Hill~

"Oi!.. Oi, Bill!"

Ron called out upon seeing another familiar face in the crowd. Frantically, Ron Weasley had been dodging in and out of the sea of bodies, scouring the Great Hall's floor for Hermione.. who had mysteriously vanished from his side. Not that it was of much urgency. _She'll come back to you, always does._ With that thought tucked neatly away, the tall lad took this opportunity to cavort with his older brother, who happened to be there as well, touting some part of the Ministry's many job opportunities, no doubt.

The ginger-haired, ponytail-wearing man, spirited about at his name being called. A roguish smile crept over his features before he made his excuses to the youngish group of girls that gravitated about him within the past hour; all preening and _wanting _his attention. Of all the Weasley boys, Bill had always been a bit of a ladies man. With his outgoing personality and his love of life, he had been a catch for the London socialites. Much to the dismay of many a haughty wizarding families. But since his separation from his partner some 5 or 6 months before, the once rebellious prodigal son, had opted to change at least his work ethics. The hair remained the same, sans earrings and worn leathers. Befit now with a deep wine-colored robe, Bill took on a more conservative gloss.

He had been hard pressed by the higher ups of the Ministry echelon to look for a probable replacement(s), hence his showing here. Bill did make headway; most have been of the female species- turning in resumes and being interviewed. He had no clue why. Setting that part of business aside, the lofty hieghted Weasley man strode forth offering a congenial hug to the younger Weasley. A resounding clap thudded upon Ron's back, accompanied by a basso salutation,

".. There y'are, didn't think I'd've gotten a chance 'ide nor 'air of y'Ronnie. Been thinkin' that girl o'yours been keepin' y'oled up an' all."

Affording a few slap-induced coughs, Ron regained his composure then grinned. 

"Can't blame her f'that, now can I, Bill? Something' about us Weasleys after-all." gloated Ron. His eyes caroused Bill's booth, again in search. But this time for Bill's beauteous assistant. Ron, in hopes to impress the quarter Veela, pressed the front of his Gryffindor robes then raked his fingers through his hair.

"Ey.. Isn't th'Oh-So-Lovely Ms DeLacour 'ere with ya? 'ope you don't mind my wantin' to say my 'ellos to 'er. Smashing woman an' all.." bemused the young Weasley.

It wasn't a secret to anyone- that Ron loses all bodily functions whenever Fleur was about. But he couldn't help himself, as much as Bill could. 

When Bill had first laid his eyes upon the woman, it was as if he took his first breath of life. She was exquisite. Full lips, a lithe yet athletically toned body right down to that purring French lilt. She had been everything to him.. including the only competition that ever challenged him via magic. Somewhere along the way.. something was lost. Fleur never really cared for the work any longer, never worked as hard, always seemingly wanting time with him; to which he readily explained that's why they had a loft together, they can spend time when time is given-_at the loft_. Or why he had to make the sacrifices and spend all those late nights in the office. In the end.. she didn't _understand _him.

"She decided this wasn't the place for her." Bill said matter of factly. "Fleur wanted t'leave, mate. Sorry t'disappoint." he rested his paw upon Ron's shoulder, giving it a somber squeeze.

"She left you, then?" Ron sounded dejected, "So.. she's not 'ere?" The young Weasley's shoulders began to droop.

With a shrug of his broad shoulders, and a nod of his head, Bill gave his reply. "Enough of that, ey? Now.." he paused looking about, "I'm not used t'seein' you by your lonesome Ronnie. 'Arry? 'Ermione? Ginny?"

Rubbing the butt of his chin, Ron gestured abouts the room, "Guess is good as mine, Bill- I know they're about 'ere somewheres." Slowly his glance went back to his brother, finally remembering his manners, "I'm sorry.. 'bout you an' Fleur." Bill shook his head. Ron continued, "Guess it was expected, with her being Quarter Veela an' all.. Flighty lots."

"Too right they are.." Bill muttered, anxious to get off the subject of his former lover, he changed the tone of the conversation, "Luck on finding a career y'like then?" 

Ron wandered about the display Bill had going, picking up enchanted do-dads along the way, "Well.. I reckon anything 'Mione gets into.. I'll try for." Bill cast a quick glance to his brother before making his way to him and snatching the enchanted puzzle box he was toying with, from his fumbling grasp.

"Not a toy, mate." Bill grunted, "And what does Miss Granger think about that? What with you wanting to tail 'er and all."

"Well.. she loves me. She'll love the idea." Bill offered a nod of his head, far be if from he to tell his brother otherwise; it is after-all.. Ron and Hermione's affair.

Palming the piece in his hand, Bill turned about to return the object onto its cradle, when he looked up. He caught a glance of silver-white mane not too far in the distance. Only one person could ever manage to hold his attention captive. Even during their heated verbal sparrings. It's been almost half a year since he last saw the woman. Her things still had not been collected from the flat, everything that ever belonged to her was stored. As if not wanting to believe it, Bill screwed his eyes shut and afforded himself a few blinks of his eyes.

"What in th' bloody 'ell is she doin' 'ere.." 

Ron lifted his gaze and sidled next to Bill. Following his elder brother's line of sight, the young Weasley offered a small little chortle of surprise. Which all but halted as he stole a glance at Bill. His brother was far from amused. Ron couldn't place a time when he saw Bill this.. perturbed. Or was it DISturbed? Traversing his gaze towards the woman, he spied another figure, not that much taller than Fleur. With the tell tale dense wavy locks that topped the other figure, Ron beamed.

"Hermione's with 'er."

Bill knitted his brows together. Ron hadn't noticed that his remark had hit a little chord within the Eldest Weasley. Not liking the site of Hermione with Fleur, Bill had every intent of trouncing up to the quarter Veela to give her what for.. until, Ron had, even above the din of the crowed, beckoned his mate over – a booming yell. At which, Hermione had inclined her head and offered a canted nodding acknowledgement towards Ron.

The ladies had then parted ways shortly after that. Hermione had turned about at this point and battled the tide of bodies to reach them. Once there, she had hoped to share news of her employ with Fleur Delacour, but before she could Ron eased towards his mate, with arms wide opened and instantaneously engulfed Hermione in an affectionate embrace. With the dip of his head, he yearned to feel the young muggle witch's lips on his. But the chastised look that Hermione afforded the hot-blooded male, only bade him to mewl out gutturally his displeasure.

"'Mione.. it's just a kiss."

"..Ron – you know how I feel about public displays of affection." Rolling his eyes, Ron dropped his arms to either side of his lanky form. Hermione looked apologetically towards Bill. But with a congenial shake of his head, the elder Weasley grunted his excuses to the pair, 

"Got business to attend to, if'n y'don't mind a smite watching the booth, I'll return shortly." With that uttered, Bill didn't wait to hear their answer.

Not that it mattered. 

Hermione ambled further into the expansive booth, clasping her hands before her as she peered at the trinkets graced on shelves - her mind drifted carelessly back into the dimly lit tent that she had just left. Cluttered as it may have been, the inner sanctum was.. comforting. Having a homey feel to it; though the company was a bit of a surprise. Everything was organized, by size and weight with labels indicating where the object was found. Obviously, whatever it was that Bill does for the ministry, Fleur was his counterpart. Each piece on display here, belonged to a part of history – So Hermione noted. Magical history anyway. Medicine bags from the native Americas, Druidic Parchments, and Incan petroglyphs..

"Ron, what exactly does your brother do for the Ministry?" came her soft query

"Och, well, a bit of this a whole lot of that –Reckon, since he's aces at breaking charms and counter curses is why they hired him, yeah? 'Ey – was that Fleur you were with, then?"

Hermione lanced her eyes upward, to meet with Ron's gaze. Usually the mention of Fleur's name, Hermione would have been up at arms, for some reason hearing her name roll from Ron's lips caused a different reaction; her insides gave an involuntary shudder – and her mind drifted once more, back, this time remembering those tantric icy storm colored eyes. She averted her gaze after a beat or so and responded with a shrug, 

"Why? If it were.. will you go into convulsions?" A soft tease.

"I don't go into convulsions any longer, thankyouverymuch. Thought I'd pop my head in, say my 'ellos t'her, is all." Ron's visage drifted into a dream-like trance at the thought, of none other than Fleur.

Hermione arched her brow. It wasn't because Ron had thought to visit the quarter Veela that caused her to act this way, but it was the need to relay the fact that Fleur is NOT interested in cavorting with Ron, either on a basic level of acquaintance or friendship wise. But the following words that flew from her mouth seemed more venomous than naught,

"I'm sure your brother's told you, they're no longer together, but it also doesn't mean that you should up and bother the woman. She's a business to run, you know. Quite busy actually." She spewed in defense of the absent Veela.

Ron blanched. Before his lips curled into a lopsided smirk. He progressed closer to Hermione. The move, causing the young muggle-witch to repeatedly blink and cross her arms over the threshold of her chest. Once the gap had been closed, Ron reached forth, and cupped her cheek. His thumb began to caress the young woman's supple flesh..

"Hermione, you know you're the only one for me - She's just.. bloody eye-candy, but that's all, not a wit to 'er, I bet." That said, Ron pulled Hermione into a crushing embrace, then, pressed his lips to hers.

The movement had caught Hermione off guard. In a panic state and with hands plastered on the flat plane of Ron's chest, she pressed backward. 

"What in the NAME of Merlin's Beard are you DOING??" her face flushed, the young prefect finally peeled herself from the equally as confused Gryffindor who held her.

Ron began to motion for Hermione to lower her voice, erstwhile the girl had shifted her gaze about the vicinity, and only to see a few wayward glances tossed their way by fellow Hogwarts students. Regaining her composure just a slight, Hermione barreled her gaze unto the red-ear-tipped male prefect before her.

"Are you done? Can I speak now?" a nod from Hermione, "I was trying to make you FEEL better, woman! I know how bloody loony you get about Fleur."

He began to pace before her, rubbing at his temples, "Blimey, Hermione - I swear sometimes – reckon you need to be committed. I love you, but CRIKEY, you're a mite scary."

Regulating her breathing, and rubbing her own temples, the girl continuously peered about, meeting curious looks – slowly, her eyes crested towards the illusory sandy dunes, hoping inwardly that Fleur hadn't seen the commotion. She hadn't realized her breath had been held.. at not seeing Fleur standing there, the breath in her lungs quickly dissipated. Hermione looked directly at Ron, her mind raced at an insidious speed, trying to think of an explanation for her erratic behavior. It wasn't justified, she knew that. And she couldn't understand the hidden reasons for her actions this day. 

"Look, Ron, you know how I am about.. a-about a display like that. A-affection in a public place –" , Ron grunted. That meager action only served to agitate Hermione more. By all accounts, she had told Ron many a time that she's not the exhibitionist type. "You KNEW that, Ron! Don't you bloody pin this on me..!" 

Her voice hitched lower, aware now that the curious onlookers began to look more like vultures waiting to swoop in to deliver the final blow. Stealing a side-glance, Hermione had caught Parvati Patil and Lavendar Brown smirking to one another, followed by a few lofty yet stifled giggles. She knew that at least one, if not both those girls had fancied themselves to Ron –And once she and the lad had gotten together, Parvati and Lavendar made it known to Hermione their dislike. Shifting her eyes back onto her beau, now redder than a boiled lobster, Hermione gritted her teeth, preparing for hurricane Ron to hit shore. At this point in time, those rumormongering twits could have him.

Ron stopped his pacing and glared back at Hermione, who held her ground. He felt his temples throbbing, and more importantly, his ears beginning to swell with heat. 

"You're my girlfriend, for bullocks sake! EVERYONE knows this, it's EXPECTED that we do this sort of thing in public – It's silly you deny me, YOUR boyfriend, anything!" he huffed out furiously, "..Don't be so DAMNED frigid, Hermione."

It seemed, to Hermione that you could hear a heartbeat if you listened close enough. Granted, those too far from the scene at hand, didn't know what was going on, but those that did, immediately spread the word like wildfire. The activity of the Great Hall was slowing to simmer, whispers erupted from one end to another. But with her head inclined, and resolve shaking her diminutive frame.. Hermione stalked up towards Ron; casually as she could muster, reached both her hands upward, resting them with the flat of her palms upon his robe's lapels. Genially she began to tug gently at the lapels, pulling them closed. 

"See how you make of the cold tonight, then. Don't expect me." Came her soft, barely inaudible rasped prose. As she raised her eyes to look at him - Hermione, as hard as she tried, allowed for a few strains of tears to paint her face. She lowered her preening hands, then, pivoted upon her planted heel, leaving the area. What few steps she took, it took every bit of her being to not crumple to the floor.

Bedraggled with confusion swimming all over his face, Ron tailed her, grabbing at her arm, to only whirl her back to face him, "We're not done 'ere. Where're you goin'?" He hissed.

Yanking her arm back, Hermione coolly replied, in between sniffles, "Shall I give you a report now? Fine. If you fancy to know.. I've left a few things at that tent yonder - resumes and the like. Perhaps the walk will thaw my rigidity off, mm?" then a pause, "you've said your piece. Now please.. _let go_."

With no more Fireworks to be had, Ron did just that; Hermione knew he had more than likely missed the double entrade. But far be it from her to repeat her intent. She felt extremely.. exhausted. The two parted ways. The Hall, then returned to its own business, though the buzz of what career path to take was obviously replaced with what had just happened. Ginny and Harry soon made their appearance, albeit late in fashion. Four eyes spirited to and from Hermione's retreating back to Ron's now drawn face.

"Bugger" came a coughing interjection, "a trial it was, trying to get through that mess.." Harry motioned towards the mesh of student bodies. "Uh..hm."

"Ron? Are you..?" asked Ginny.

Ron ran his mammoth paw through his hair and nodded, "Just a bit of a spat - Hermione'll get over it." He glanced towards Harry, who was busily affixing his slipping glasses upon the bridge of his nose, and Ginny, who was nibbling on her lower lip, awaiting any remark from her older brother. Clearing his throat Ron added, "So.. 'Arry, good slots open for you, then?"

Sharing knowing glances with one another Harry and Ginny took their queues. Harry eased himself alongside his best friend offering a bit of an elbowed nudge, while Ginny turned tail and was once more, swallowed by the sea of bodies. 

"Yeah. Mad –Eye was abouts," Harry began, "tagged me and ran his schpiel about the Auror's lot." Soon as Ginny had made herself scarce, Harry clucked his tongue at the roof of his mouth. "What say we have a bit of a scrimmage- Quidditch does a body good after-all."

Ron offered a lopsided smile, accompanied by a chuckle, "it is getting' stuffy in 'ere, innit? Right then. Let's."

__

Once more, thank you for the comments. J I know it's a bit short – I'll make up for it with a hot interaction of our two leading ladies ;)

Next chapter shall be a bit of a doozy – Where were you when you realized there are things about yourself you didn't know, but ached to find out..? Hermione gets her chance to study herself for once.. she may like what she sees, or may not.. either way, there's no way for her to spell cast her way out of this.


	4. iv

_iv._

_For those that are Ron and Hermione lovers, I do apologize if I offend you in this segment. And once more, thank you again for all the comments, so appreciated for a novice like me._

_~This section dedicated to my muse, my best friend, and S/O~_

* * *

_T_here was a light mist outside, despite the onset of Fall, it all but kissed her flesh fervently as she walked. The birds over-head sang their hellos to fortunate passersby, while the leaves were jostled by the gentleness of the breeze that every so often made its appearance. They let themselves free fall, carpeting the ground. As she lobbed her glance to and fro the compound, she smiled at the students loitering, laughing.. a few were coupled, she heard words of _love _being whispered, those though seemed to cease as she walked past – then words of disgust and irritant were let loose, mostly from the young women whose significant others halted their sweet nothings to them. The woman gave her silvery mane a tousle at that – too young to know what it really means, too eager to not. 

But as always, Fleur Delacour was stared at – here, she garnered a legend status during her short time all those years before. A Tri-Wizarding Champion with the blood of the Veela pumped throughout her every vein. Perhaps at one point in her life, she _adored _the attention, now she could very well live a hermit-like existence away from the spotlight.

Everything was crystal clear – close to being perfect this afternoon. And that alone is a feat in itself, even by English standards. If she were given the time to listen to the pulse of life swirling about her – she would have heard the very essence of Mother Nature. As it stood, the sounds of life were all but droned out by an incessant buzzing wafting from behind her. The sound edged closer.. and the closer it did, the more distinct the white noise came. Soon, they managed to merge into a stream of heated words, breaking her reverie.

"…What made you _think_ of recruiting a CHILD, Fleur? Have you no sense? Have you utterly lost your mind –Are you _listening_to me??"

Previous this - The man all but bounded into her tent at the fair, demanding an audience with her – not before he spewed out the same speech to her from within. She was not expecting Bill Weasley to be here at all. So to her credit the French-Woman rose from her seat and coolly motioned towards the outside. Fleur knew that Bill had a tendency to lose his temper at the wrong place and time. She was surprised that he agreed at all.

At his question now, she dared not turn about to look at him. The hurt of their break-up was still there, buried under a few layers of time; Fleur wanted terribly to believe she hated him, and yet – because she had given so much of herself to Bill, she knew – albeit stupidly, there was still a part of her that somewhat cared him. _Somewhat._ Fleur slowed her stride, her eyes rolled at his chastising. She lead the way for the most part, and found an Atrium far enough from the main hallways of Hogwarts, but close enough to the lakeside – perhaps the Veela could magically toss Bill Weasley in for a bit of a cool-off. Fleur couldn't help but chuckle at that enticing thought. 

Steeling her resolve, the woman clad in a powder blue cloak, spirited about. Immaculate piercing blue eyes lanced upon Bill's rooted form, as if to challenge him to utter another syllable. At the ripple of his throat, she knew Bill had swallowed – involuntarily or not, she had drawn first blood with no words being uttered.. This drew a fleeting smirk over the full of her lips. A pair of diminutive hands with perfectly manicured nails edged out, pulling the cloak tighter about her form. Fleur was pacing herself, formulating words in her mind – though her English had dramatically improved, when confronted in such a way, her French would always begin to mix with the English.

"Drôle…" a breath, "'ave I not been working wit' an enfant for d'pas' two years..?" Fleur purred out sarcastically.

She offered a kittenish lopsided smile while she allowed her hands to toy with the fringes of her cloak's lapels. Fleur scanned her former lover's face observing the miniscule way his features tensed at her curt reply. _Satisfaction _seeped through her. Her head dipped a slight, which brought forth a cascade of few of her silken strands, hooding the intensity of her cerulean eyes.

A move that Bill was thankful for. It broke the French-witch's mesmerizing gaze.

Natural, everything she DID was seamless. No longer was Fleur that infatuated and flirtatious, 17-year-old youth that he sought to mold and impress so many years hence. Who stood before him now, was a woman that didn't bear any resemblance to that girl, Fleur was stationary there looking smug, obnoxious – at least to him – She was womanly and but mostly, seemed so untouchable. For some reason it was exhilarating. Bill found asking himself, _WHEN did she change?_ How he loathed that she wasn't dependant on him any longer and yet he wanted her at the same time, he wanted to _break_ her.

"Do us both a favor and get off your high horse, woman. Answer th' question. Do you not 'ave any brains t'all? Hermione Granger of all th' bullocking…" he edged closer, Fleur never flinched, "Th' girl 'as a future with Hogwarts an' th'ministry." Bill spat out anxiously just a few feet from the Quarter Veela at this point. "I'll be damned if _you_ of all people, _corrupt _her."

Fleur rolled her shoulders beneath the cloak, indicative of a shrug, still holding her composure. Her back was ramrod stiff, "..Is dat 'er wants, or yours an' ev'ryone else's?" she began calmly. As everyone knows, the Veela carry an almost hypnotizing lilt upon their voices. If one weren't careful.. 

She injected the tone deliberately – a soft contralto - wanting to exact her vengeance to the very person that hurt her – Fleur knew letting her Veela prowess lose could have almost devastating results upon her victims, they would become her puppets if she so desired. Unfortunately.. she forgot Bill Weasley was perhaps one of the BEST if not THE best, Charm-Breaker in all of England. Fleur tasted it on the tip of her tongue, Bill had faltered, by his eyes, though mixed with an intense anger towards her – there was wont as well, she'd been witness to too many who've desired her in such a fashion. The woman could feel it in her bones.. if played right, Bill would regret ever letting her loose.

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue Fleur breathed out, "..I don' corrup' anyone 'oo doesn' wan' t'be, M'sier Weasley." A pause, "'Ermione is a brilliant girl. I inten' t'give 'er d'benefit of d'doubt..If only you did d'same." 

"What's happened t'you Fleur? You're so.. so…"

"..Older? Per'aps it ees b'cause I am 'ow you say… An adult now? Some'sing you couldn' 'andle, oui?"

" – Can't be it." Bill dismissed that idea immediately, "Changed. S'more the word t'describe you."

Fleur maneuvered past Bill, flipping her bone-straight tresses over her left shoulder, giving the stunned Weasley a hefty dose of her exoticism.

"Je suis désolé. I tire.. an' you are running about in circles, no? We are finished 'ere." 

A smell of Jasmine and Lilac lingered. She then pivoted about, readying to give her departing sentiments.. only to have her back pinioned to the Atrium's slick glass structure. She wasn't prepared for his sudden pounce. But inwardly pleased that he caved in.

"--!" Her words were never said, for in a fury Bill had attempted to smother any flurry that may have fallen from her lips. Fleur instantaneously began to dodge those assaults. As her neck craned, she felt the eldest Weasley's tongue slither forth to taste her flesh. To level herself.. the Veela hooked a leg about his trim waist, affording an additional brace from the arms that draped about his neck; her fingers slipped through his pony-tailed hair allowing her to grate her fingernails over his scalp.

Awarded with a guttural moan by the man, Fleur smirked.

A gasp fell from her lips as Bill angled his hips upwards bucking towards her with long and deep strokes. His manhood had betrayed Bill, it was tented achingly against the fabric of his wear. The heat of the Veela overcame his senses. And Bill hadn't cared. The only barrier was the damned clothes. He was absolutely rabid.. His hands groped desperately threatening to tear everything from off her. She lowered her hips a few times, meeting his wanton thrusts, enticing him even more.

Fleur's head had inclined, to get a bit of reprieve from the act, only to have her gaze rest upon a line of dense brush – moving. The wind did kick up a bit, perhaps…

* * *

Hermione froze in place, her breath stilled – but that damned gust almost revealed her hidden posturing. Fleur's gaze finally relented after a minute and she let a stream of air release from her lungs.

Slowly.. very carefully, the young Muggle crept backwards. The only sounds that greeted her ears now, were the faint moaning exchanges between the pair and the rustling of the leaves. The latter of which provided a bit of a covert retreat.

Tucked within her Prefect's robes, Hermione could barely feel the mist caressing her face, her mind was in a daze as she aimlessly wandered back onto Hogwarts and to her dormitory room. 

She escaped the piercing looks and harsher whisper-rumors of the Great Hall - to the outside. The crisp of the air filled her lungs. She continued to walk, briskly to where her place of refuge was.

A solitary place that she thought no one would be a bench near the Atrium located alongside the Lake. A place where she could collect her fragmented thoughts and evaluate her next move. What Hermione hadn't realized that, people were already there – not at her spot but in near proximity. It seemed to the young Prefect that they had been there a while, bickering at best she could tell. Curious, Hermione edged for a look-see. At least it provided her a momentary separation from her own woes. The thing of it was, the voices had seemed familial to her. All of which had inexplicably died down. 

She found that patch of brush, big enough to conceal her. What she had caught sight of though, rocked her. There was no mistaking that illustrious mane of Silver, contrasting against that flaming top of the man that firmly held the woman to him. It was taboo, it was something she should have stopped, only because it was part of her Prefect duties, uphold school regulations, but – it was erotic, and most of all, it was Fleur. She wanted to watch, she wanted to see how Fleur moved, it thrilled her to see Fleur writhe..

But soon plethora of questions soon inundated Hermione's mind, at the pit of her stomach, she felt the beginnings of the Green Eyed monster making its appearance – no rhyme nor reason for it. _Why? How could she? Weren't they ended??_ But before she could take her second breath, Hermione met Fleur's gaze. She could swear Fleur knew. But the French-woman's attention had immediately returned to her partner.

And NOW.. Hermione was crossing the Hogwarts' grounds in a daze. She couldn't remember when she had returned to her dormitory, but the exhaustion on her bones were becoming readily apparent to the teenager. Resting her hand upon the knob of her room, she pushed past the heavy oak.

"There you are, girl."

Blinking repeatitively, Hermione looked up, the shock of pale skin and flaming red tresses greeted her.

"Ginny." She rasped out. "What are you..? In fact how in the world did you get into my room?"

"Well that's a fine how-do-you-do", came Ginny's swift yet teasing response. With a flick of her wrist, the year younger female produced her wand and mused, "_Alohomora. _Standard book of Spells - And here I thought you were well read, Ms. Granger."

"Listen, Gin – I'm just,.. I'm not good company right now. Can I take a raincheck, luv?" Hermione confessed softly, slipping past the youngest Weasley offing her slightly damp robes and discharging it upon her bed before following suit and crumpling upon it afterwards.

Ginny watched her friend, her 'sister' putter past her with concern. She eased her slight frame against Hermione's four-poster bed's towering banisters, peering down to the over-stressed Prefect.

"First thing you need to remember, Hermione - Ron's a git. My brother, certainly, but still a git." Then a pause right before Ginny rested the flat of her hand on the Prefect's back – It took a bit of time to realize what Ginny was referring to-, "He loves you, you know more than anything."

She heard Ginny, heard the words, but all she could feel was the girl's hand on her back. Her mind began to wander and compare. 

It was nothing like Fleur's. 

The warmth that permeated from Fleur's palm just poured into every blood pumping vein of Hermione's.  It stirred her.__

"I know." She gave a muffled response, her face buried into her down pillows. Ginny sighed and patted Hermione's back. "Give me a few moments, Gin - I'd just like to be alone for a bit."

Grudgingly the young Gryffindor bobbed her head, "Sure. And Hermione…? Just.. give him a chance. Okay?  Ron's a great guy."

"Mm." Hermione grunted.

The room stilled, and her head rose at the sound of the gentle click of the door closing behind Ginny. Hermione spirited her eyes to the nearest candle on her night stand. She propped herself upright and blew a steady stream of her breath upon it – the wick spasmed, then lit. A gentle glow of yellow and orange danced before her eyes. The last vestiges of day were being dampened. Night would soon be here.

She rolled over upon her back. Hermione's eyes shot towards the canopy of her bed watching as if in a trance induced state at the dancing shadows, the young muggle witch uttered a soft incantation directed to the shadows up above her. They swirled at her whispered sayings, forming into undefined images, of two beings; she knew very well who they were. But Hermione gave them no name – she wouldn't allow herself to say it out loud. Intently, she watched. Bringing her fingers of her left hand to her lips, the teenager began tracing the gentle contoured shape that it provided.

Her eyes listed closed for a bit, letting her imagination flow, allowing her fingers to leave her now moist lips down to her swan like neck. Hermione felt her pulse quicken. Her eyes eased open. Above her the shadows eased into one time and time again. Lower did Hermione's hand drift, passing her clavicle, to between her breasts. Her right hand, had already worked about her mid-section, tugging at the fringes of her pleated skirt over her the gentle swell of her thighs. At the slight flare of her nostrils, Hermione could smell it. The faintest trace of her arousal. She was damp; the first brief brushes of her fingertips over her underwear confirmed that. At the touch Hermione elicited a throaty groan. 

Ron.

Ron was her beau. She gave herself to Ron. It's always _been _Ron, he and Harry had been all she knew – it was only natural that she be paired with either one of them. She was _expected_ to be paired with one of them. And yet, since she had met Fleur – there was an engrained ferocity of that need to know her, to let Fleur know she's as every bit as equal to the Quarter Veela. That need had taken root. Fleur ignited an intensity at the very pit of her being. Hermione felt a _fire_, a… something.

Hermione bit her lower lip, squelching the burgeoning wont to scream. The shadows above continued to writhe and melt into one another, causing her breathing to go ragged. She was beginning to feel lightheaded; logically she knew the name to call. But abandoning that logic… she finally let loose the name that made sense to no one else but _her._

"…_Fleur…_"

* * *

"Good save that one, mate." chortled Harry as they walked into the Prefect Common Room. He clapped Ron's back merrily, chiding the battered Gryffindor Keeper.

"Aw shtuff it 'Arry, least it pu' a shtop t'yiur bloo'y goal, didn' it?" Ron mewed piteously, rubbing the bridge of his swollen nose. "'Ey, if I didn' b'fore, thanks."

Harry shook his drenched hair and offered a roll of his shoulders, "Would've done the same for me, Ron." Neither spoke of what happened previous their scrimmage. Ron tossed a hand towel towards Harry, who was already stationed at the fireplace swathing off the rivulets of rainwater that had collected on his spectacles.

"Finally returned from th' pitch 'ave ye?"

Both boys glanced up as a very upset looking Bill who was hunkered just adjacent them on an old leathered lazy-boy. His feet propped up on an ottoman as he nursed his drink.  He'd been there some time.

Ron physically slapped his forehead, suddenly remembering, "Oi, sorry 'bout leavin' the booth Bill, just.. 'Arry an' I y'see.."

With a wave of his hand in dismissal, Bill jetted in, "Least o' me problems, lad." Harry and Ron shared confused glances, as Bill rose to his feet, patting his vest's front pockets. Pulling out a pocket-watch, the slightly inebriated man, glanced to it. "..God, bloody worthless piece of invention e'er made t'man – makes no sense! Jus' like _women."_

Flushed red, Bill ambled towards the hearth, motioning towards both boys, "You, 'specially, get o'er 'ere." Complying, Ron stepped forth, only to be garroted about his neck by Bill's massive forearm.

"Don't trust 'em. Not a one. Conniving wenches they are. Don't let them step all o'er you, got me? Ron? 'Arry?" They nodded slowly. "If ever they start t'lip back with all their boo-hooin' an' 'elp me this an' 'elp me that', give 'em what for. Don't let them play with y'eart. T'ain't somethin' to trifle with. Got me?"

Again, they had nodded. With Ron turning a bit beet in hue, Harry took that slight que and offered to Bill, 

"Hey, Bill c'mon. I think the Prefect's guest rooms are this way." At which Bill belched out his replying acknowledgement.

Rubbing the back of his head he glanced upward, taking in everything his older brother said, Ron called to Harry, "Gonna go check up on a few things, mate. Be back." 

Harry afforded a nod, "Right. I'll get th' Butterbeers ready." That said, Harry proceeded to make sure the elder Weasley made it to the inner guest rooms safely, where during the duration of the fair, 2 days worth, the vendors were put up in Hogwarts' prefect dormitory.

Bounding upward towards the main rooms for the Prefects, Ron paused before the particular door. He hadn't bothered to rap upon the thick oak. Not that any one person could HEAR through it. So.. he shoved it open. The dimly lit room greeted his eyes. It took but a few moments for his sight to adjust.

"'Lo…? Oi, y'in 'ere?"

"Ron…? What're you doing in here..?" Hermione rose from the settee nestled snug against the farthest window; started by another entering her _safehaven_, disrupting her privacy. Scuffing his feet along the cobblestone floor, Ron rubbed at the nape of his neck, lobbing a glance out the window Hermione was looking from.

He gave no answer as he spied a very familiar silver topped woman slipping from the Great Hall enroute to the guest rooms of the Prefect Dorms. Ron glanced back to Hermione and shrugged.

"Just thought I'd entice y'to come t'bed."

Hermione couldn't believe the gall. "I thought I gave you my answer. But if I must spell it out for you, N – O." She stared at him.

"For once, Ron – _listen _to me instead hearing with half an ea—", Hermione never had a chance to complete her thoughts. A blinding flash of numbing white-hot pain shot at her cheek.  Sending her stutter-stepping, and her mind reeling.  Cupping her cheek, the unabashed stream of tears fell from their perch.

Ron was looking at his hand, then back to Hermione. The feeling was horrific. And the adrenaline was just as potent. His breathing was labored. He saw the shock painted all over her face. But most importantly, Ron heard the sweet sound of silence threading the room.

Swallowing hard, Ron said through clenched teeth, "I've been listening to you spew about everything for the past four years. YOU listen. You made me look like a bloody fool in front of ev'ryone t'day. I am your _boyfriend_, not some woebegone maggot that you think you can walk all over." He paused, advancing slowly on Hermione, failing to miss her cringe in respite. 

"Said you always hated when ev'ryone stared at you, b'cause of your muggle 'eritage? How'd it feel t'ave ev'ryone stare at y'then in th'all?? All thought you've gone off th'looney bin, 'ermione! _There goes that whacko Granger, whatever does 'ee see in 'er? _I won't 'ave them all laugh at us. I won't 'ave Ginny and 'Arry look at me.. _me,_ like I can't control you.."

He paced before her now, continuing his tyraid, "D'you know.. without 'Arry or me, youd've been 'nother mudblood, laughed at like Malfoy always does? Who'd've been there then, to watch y'back, huh? You owe us.. _ME._ An' y'better do right by me, 'Ermione."

No more words were uttered by either of them. Ronald Weasley felt a distinct amount of satisfaction at his accomplishment. He had done what Bill suggested. And held his ground. 

Ron had left – leaving Hermione with only her thoughts. 

What had she been doing?? Chasing an infatuation, which was nothing more than brief confusion? Trying to believe she was more than what she really was? Had she forgotten everything they had gone through in all their 4 years?  He.. he made sense.  They were.. _are.._ her family.  People that wouldn't abandon her.  The unknown is just that.  The unknown.  Un_safe_.

It was close to Midnight.

He would be waiting for her arrival.

Slipping into her nightgown, Hermione preened herself exactly as Ron liked.. and left her room. 

* * *

_..Writing this on a whim, I never really had direction to this, where shall we go now?  I would like to give insight on both ladies.  It's time they get to know the other.  Chaste.  Innocent.  Somewhat.  ___

__


	5. v

__

v.

"…Can you take me high enough..?

..Can you fly me over…?

..Fly me over yesterday.."

****

~Damn Yankees~

--

Overhead the water continued to pour, beating a soft cadence on her barren flesh. Random rhythms could be made out and she found herself humming nameless tunes to them. Hermione slowly inclined her head, letting her mouth slip open allowing for a few rivulets to stream into its depths. Her eyes were screwed shut, and her mouth filled till she choked. Her head lurched forth as she began spewing the liquid therein – while her body began to convulse with unsolicited shudders. The humming soon turned to weak sobs. And before the young Muggle knew - she was curled upon the cold marble floor, pulling her knees to her chest.

Hermione's mind searched incessantly for answers that seemed like they would never come. The young woman never felt this helpless before. _Never_. Hermione Granger had been known for her resolve, no-nonsense quips, and bossy fortitude.. Above all.. her _brains._

__

..but you weren't prepared.

You didn't have your precious books. You didn't have your lectures, not a one by way of Cliffs Notes – The answers are so much simpler if they were in print.. If you had an instructor…

Your first actual relationship would be nothing but aces, then, wouldn't it? But..

..But your soul isn't as easily to be read, is it Hermione? A wing and a prayer - yet no one hears you. How lost do you feel now? The girl with knowledge, with answers to proverbially everything, is left without a wit to her own dilemma.

..You've no control, do you? 

"And.. I don't know how to handle it", replied her meek and frightened voice. The sound caught her off guard. It hardly SOUNDED like that assured Witch that during their tenure here had been the go-to person for the boys. Hermione had EVERYTHING planned, everything answered before they were even questioned.

In her need to win her own identity the young Prefect felt.. she had _lost_, she was the third person of the Magnificent Trio, the girl who dated the Quidditch Gryffindor team's Keeper – King Weasley. She was Harry's _other_ best friend. Hermione was reminded her station in life – a slap to her face and everything jostled into a warped perspective. What made her think she could refuse this existence? What made her think she could go at it alone… her identity had been forged in circumspect. Her life would always be entwined with Harry and Ron.

Hermione glanced to her now pruned hands. Not having any idea as to how long she had been in that shower stall the young woman, soaked to the bone, rose achingly to her feet. So with shaking hands, she reached forth and turned the knobs to cease the feeding water. There was so much steam, it was difficult to find her way out from those gang showers that the female prefects had shared.

At the irony of her current situation, Hermione heard herself laugh - a hollow and bitter sound – which rippled from the pit of her throat. Absently her hand with splayed fingers, coursed her neck. "It's a bloody sign isn't it?" She called out, only hearing the haunting echoes of her voice bouncing off the marbled walls. With a wave of her hand, the steam parted briefly, affording Hermione a stolen glance of her feet, only to be covered once more by the mist.

"Lost in the proverbial haze.." Again, there was no answer. After a few misguided steps and a few bruises to her shins, Hermione finally found her way to where she remembered placing her gown. Her thoughts were so far gone that the Muggle-Witch hadn't had sense enough to towel herself off. She slipped the gown over her drenched head and barely paid any attention to the fact that the garb began to stick at every crevice of her water licked form. 

Tired and disgusted with not finding any answers to the questions that ran through her mind, she made her way from the gang showers and into the main Prefect Dormitory hallways. Her feet were bare, but crossing the cobblestone floor hadn't phased her in the least. It was as if her body instinctively went numb to save her any more grief that she may stumble on.

It was the dead of night and the ambiance that was set by the Hallway was apropos. Dimly lit by a line of torches, the place almost seemed to thrive on depression. Overhead the flagons and banisters held each of the colors of the respective houses – as they rocked gently, the weight of them had caused the rods to moan with an age-old ache. Cathedral like windows lined the corridor letting in what little light the moon allowed this night. With the onset of the mist in the afternoon, it had remained overcast and absolutely dismal.

The light played over her body as she walked without purpose along the Hallway. One thing she had always taken a slight pleasure in, was making her rounds as a prefect. Right now, she would rather be doing that in the buff than return to _that _room. No longer did it feel as if it were hers, it took on a more insidious feel with what had happened a half hour ago. Leaving the main hall, Hermione had crossed into one of the many veins of the Dormitory – the guest rooms that housed the many vendors for the Career Fair that day.

Her eyes scanned each Oak door, discounting one by one. She muttered to no one save herself as she went along. "..Not this one.. not that either. _You've _got to be here, tell me you've not _gone_". 

At a few of those doors, the teenager stopped and pressed her ear to the ridged surface. Panic bubbled from the pit of her belly; her steps were brisk, threatening to break out into a run as she searched for that one door, one door that Hermione believed would offer stability..

--

She should have been asleep.

But it is not as if she were a young girl with a curfew to follow. At least not any longer. That job now fell to her beloved sister. Cradling a few of Gabrielle's owl sent letters in her hand, Fleur found herself with what seemed like an eternal smile on the full of her lips. Setting them lovingly aside, she rose from her bed and ambled towards the writing desk just adjacent her.

She flicked her gaze towards the window and murmured out "_Alohomora_", the window gave, shimmying just a smidgeon open to allow the earthen smell of rain and grass to waft into the room. Fleur's eyes shut ever so slightly as she breathed in the scents of life. A gentle breeze slipped in, sending her perfect silver tresses into a chaotic spill - not that she minded, and not that it would matter, her hair would always return into its impeccable state of rest. Tugging the chair that rested against the desk, Fleur situated herself and took Quill to parchment.

But only paused as she thought of what to pen. What would she tell her sister? How she had _played _Bill? Or.. how she had met this wondrous person; a person with passion and an inquisitiveness of the historical arts, that would rival her own. How she had found this person's eyes so penetrating that it scared her. Scared her into realizing that what she WAS isn't who she _is_. She is more than JUST a Veela.

When her eyes had met Hermione's by the lakeside Atrium, the Quarter Veela could feel the heat, the questions of _'why' _echoing behind the young teen's gaze. Bill was to be her plaything, her puppet – resorting back to her Veela ways to seduce the man. 

__

But.. She stopped. Fleur felt guilt, felt the tinge of embarrassment. Felt _her_ eyes roaming her body..

In retrospect.. when she had shoved him from her, she _had_ hurt the man. The French-Woman had apologized for actions. It was no shock to her though, that Bill had gone ballistic. It more than likely made whatever possibility to salvage their relationship, even on the most basic of friendship levels, now, nigh impossible.

Those thoughts tumbled in her gray matter – her sister had always been someone she could chat with about such things, especially when Gabrielle had gotten older. But Fleur had found herself hesitant to mention certain aspects. As she prepared to write those sentiments down, Fleur's eyes drifted towards the door. Her perfectly sculpted brows knitted together before curling a tuft of her silken strands behind her ear. Shadows scurried at the crack of the foot of the massive door. Then, they'd stopped moving. What followed was so soft the sound was ALMOST barely heard.

"Entrée.."

It took but a few moments, but the door did crack open, revealing a shadowed form. Fleur didn't have to ask who it was, the outline of the young woman's figure sang volumes, including that head of hair. She pushed herself from the desk, easing then, one leg over the other; with her hands flowing to the fore, finally nestling upon her thighs..

--

Hermione slipped in and gently closed the door after her. Her arms wrapped about her body before raising her eyes. And there, _she _sat – the woman didn't realize the sort of power her presence was emanating. Fleur was confident, elegant, assured.. _strong_. Something Hermione sorely needed. She found her throat dry, and her heart hammering in her ears.

"..I came..To… My papers.. resumes, I had forgotten them in your tent.", she lamely explained. Hermione was amazed she had enough in her to speak at all. 

Fleur unfurled her legs and slowly rose to her bared feet. The dress shirt she sported did barely enough to hide her every svelte curve. Smoothly she maneuvered from the seat towards the chest of drawers not too far from the bed, her back was again, turned to Hermione. The drawers were opened, and she noticed Fleur had pulled something out from their confines. 

Hermione felt compelled to keep speaking.

"..I.. I mean I know it's… This is an ungodly, hour.. and.. and you've probably prepped for bed.. I just.. you see, the resumes… they.."

"Could 'ave waited. Oui?" Fleur responded from the fringes of the moonlit darkness of the room. As she moved from it, the light bathed her form, caressing every nuance of her Veela flesh. Hermione lowered her gaze.

"Yes.. no.. well.. no! ..you think me silly. I.. I know. But, you've got to understand.. _please _understand." Hermione's voice cracked in plea.

By that and other evidences on the youth, Fleur had known there was more to be shared. As she turned about, she was witness to the young prefect's subdued nature. It was a stark contrast to their earlier meeting. Having closed the divide between them, Fleur gently reached out and cupped the girl's chin.

Her palm was warm. It automatically flushed through her system. Making Hermione realize, she was actually freezing. Unsolicited spasms wracked the Prefect's drenched form. But painfully slow, her eyes were drawn upward.. Rosewood played within the sea of Crystalline Blue. And it felt like home. Try as she could, Hermione tasted the familiarity of saline touch her lips – she couldn't prevent them from falling. 

Fleur smiled gently before pulling Hermione within her towel-covered arms. She murmured a few words in French, cooing to the young woman before guiding her sobbing form towards the bed. Hermione's form sunk into the folds of the down beddings; as she sat there, her head was suddenly covered, she felt Fleur's fingers through the thick of the towel as they massaged her scalp. The Veela's hands them moved further down her prone form.. and before she knew it, Fleur was on bended knee, looking up at her.

"Merci, Fleur.."

Pulling the towel about Hermione's form snugly, Fleur placed her hand upon the youth's knee and offered a reassuring squeeze, "I've spoken to Professor McGonagall.." Hermione blinked and realized that Fleur was giving her the time she needed to gather her thoughts. She was amazed the woman understood what she needed. No one bothered to look that deeply.

"She 'az given me permission to conduct an internsheep over d'olidays. S'long it does not trouble your O.W.L.s. But I am thinking.. you do not 'ave t'worry, no? you are.." Fleur had wonderment graced over her features, trying to pick the perfect word to convey her sentiments. Till, her lips puckered and she had pressed the tips of her fingertips to them. With an exaggerated kiss the woman purred out, ".._magnifique_."

Hermione mopped her face with the edge of the towel hiding a deeply hued blush that dotted her cheeks. "..If only you _knew_", she off-handedly murmured. Hermione's voice became more prominent. "That's wonderful news, Fleur - Can't think of any one more deserving of this chance..You don't know how much I _admire_, you."

Fleur rose to her feet then eased herself on the bed; which dipped even further as the elder woman joined the Prefect. "Non. Don' admire someone like me, chere. I am jus' trying to make ends meet in m'life." She paused and cast a glance to Hermione, "just like you. Now… d'plan iz we will leave during-"..

"Leave? You mean you and I?" Hermione shook her head in negation – feeling absolute remorse for it, "I.. I can't.. it'll be the Christmas holidays..Ron and the others will _expect _me at the Burrow this year.. and.. I can't disappoint them. So you see.. I can't go." She was miserable.

"..Who _are _you?"

"What?" a look of confusion was given at that, "Don't be daft - you know very well who I am.."

Fleur flopped upon her back, rolling to one side and propped her head on her tucked arm, "'Zactly what I am asking. I don' tink we've ever met before."

"you're being preposterous, Fleur. I came here.." Hermione paused and wrestled with her tongue for words that her inner mind was screaming, 

__

'to be held, to bask in your strength, to know you more.. to be with you..' , 

"..to tell you.. that I can't dive into the _Unknown_, I've already gotten things.. things set up for me." She was flushed, she knew it – and Fleur just smirked. It was.. insolent, it was.. irksome. Couldn't she SEE her pain? Why else would she come here? She should know!

"W-..what are you going on _like that _for?" The girl bounded off the bed, and spun about with narrowed eyes on Fleur.

Fleur pulled herself from the grasp of the sheets, her dress shirt was hooked about her thigh, the few unbuttoned parts of it, leveled to reveal a bit of the Veela's gentle swell of her chest. Her Cerulean eyes flashed as she advanced upon Hermione.

"It iz lovely to 'ave you 'ere 'Ermione.. There was someone 'ere that was uninvited." Fleur mused, "She kept on about 'ow she _couldn' _do dis, _cannot _do dat - It was.. annoying. After-all.." Fleur paused in her slow trek, now standing before the young muggle; her hand eased forth brushing back the locks that kept her from Hermione's gaze. The tips of her fingers whispered gently over Hermione's jawline.. It was soft, her eyes were so inviting and filled with fire, Fleur couldn't help but be.. entranced. 

It took some time, but she found her voice, though raspen as it may have been. "..I wouldn' 'ave been.._attracted _were it was, someone else. Don' tell me no. Because.." Fleur breathed, "I don't know 'ow to _deny._" She broke the gaze. And found her heart hammering, threatening to plummet out of her chest. 

"Why are you running from yourself, 'Ermione? Why would you go back on everythin' y'told me earlier..?"

"..things've changed."

"Not dat quickly, unless, it was _changed _for you."

"I don't want to.." Hermione sighed in exasperation. "It's a difficult matter to explain.."

"It becomes more _difficile.._ if you do _not_ try.."

Pacing before Fleur, the young Muggle Witch, ran the scenario in her mind. She could very well tell Fleur everything. But was she being rash about this? Ron hadn't meant to do what he did. She convinced herself, it was the heat of the moment. He was her friend.. her best friend.. As soon as she arrived to his room that night, nothing more had happened. It was silent for the most part – probably because she off-handedly cast a Sleep Charm on him. Hermione neglected to recall that, though.

"Ron and I had a bit of a row.. And I don't.. this is the first time I don't know what to do.", she carefully mewled. 

Fleur's eyes raked over Hermione's form – the nervous way she carried herself, how her eyes averted her own. There was more. But the Prefect wasn't ready.

"..in all relationships, dere iz a patch – it gets rough, sometimes, it weathers.. most times.." Fleur shrugged congenially, "Dey don'." With a beckoning pat upon the bed, the Veela looked to Hermione, her slender brow arched precariously above her doe-shaped eyes. Hermione didn't need to be prompted twice.

Fleur righted herself moving towards the middle of the bed; as Hermione settled upon the edge of the bed.. she felt the Veela's knees situating at either side of her hips. Her body involuntarily arched. Soon.. the young Muggle heard Fleur's dulcet tones..

"An' when dey don' work out, you will come to a road in which a decision mus' be made. But it is not anyone's place to tell YOU what you need do. Comprenz?" Fleur's fingers began to thread through her wavy tresses, Hermione's eyes listed, but she nodded, at least.. she thought she nodded. It took her a while to realize Fleur was preening her – with the Prefect's hair was brushed aside Hermione felt the heat of Fleur's breath cascading over her exposed flesh. 

Fleur wasn't daft. She noticed Hermione's reactions. But.. this was Hermione's night to do with as she pleased. As she WANTED. Fleur was there for support. Her voice hitched lower, dipping her head to only allow her lips to graze ever so lightly at the young woman's outer ear, "You've made those choices before, non? No one.. regarded you any less than who you are." Hermione nodded. "I certainly don'." A pause, the Veela then wrapped her arms gently about Hermione's body, her hands coursing over her arms, cradling.."..Make your choice, 'Ermione.."

"Fleur.." Words were stymied, Hermione turned her head and found what she had searched for. Fleur's lips were accessible. She was surprised at her own ferocity as in one split second.. Hermione had turned about, cupping the Veela's head tween her hands, topping the bed.. and topping Fleur who remained knelt upon the bed. With lips parted she achingly begged entrance into Fleur's mouth with tentative strokes of her tongue trailing over the shape of Fleur's lips; momentarily breaking the quest of domination as she breathlessly pleaded, "…Please… _please.._"

Lost in a haze Fleur brought her form upward silencing Hermione with her wanton mouth, taking in the youth. Hermione's hands were extremely soft, innocent in their 'virgin-like' touches, yet experienced enough to follow through with lust-filled abandon. Her top was loosened in no time, the shirt pooling about the pair..The gentle nature-cool of the room blanketed her, only to be replaced with a damp heat of Hermione's mouth covering her breasts, Fleur's head was thrown back, while her hands firmly held the young Prefect to her. 

Fingers caressed over her back.. and Hermione moaned onto the fleshy mounds that held her attentions. Her tongue lapped, bringing the pert nipples of the Veela to full attention. Her body shuddered, realizing her gown had been relieved from her. Her head rose, feeling the delicious pressure between her thighs, at this point, Fleur was upon her back, pressing her thigh at the young Prefect's sex. Friction soon ensued as the Quarter Veela, began to rock her muscled thigh against Hermione's still covered nether region.

So moist.. so damp.. The smell of Hermione's musken scent greeted Fleur, urging her further. Her hands wandered the teen's wondrous form, amazed that what she hadn't faltered being with another female. What came so easily with a man.. was just as invigorating with a woman. More so because she knew exactly what carried Hermione's needs. Fleur coursed a hand from their ministrations of Hermione's left breast.. finding its way and replacing her thigh's attentions. Her fingers unfurled and prodded gently at the engorged, yet hooded pearl. Looking up at Hermione's features as she let out a gasp, Fleur concentrated everything in her wiles upon the youth.

They locked eyes.. The explorations of her fingers picked up pace. Fleur sensed it – the youth was close. 

Hermione couldn't stop it, not even if she wanted to. 

She was brought up towards dizzying heights, it left her head swimming, left her body gasping for air that seemed to refuse to fill her lungs. Fleur's eyes swallowed Hermione whole.. Never once did the woman enter her. But the whole, completed her so fully, that it seemed like she was absolved.

But reality lingered not too far away. Soft rays of morning light soon slipped pass the heavy drapes of the guest room.

Someone would have to wake soon..

--

__


	6. vi

__

.vi

fleur-

You brought me higher than any bird dared to sky..

..you reminded me that I do have have choices

..but I also, have my responsibilities.

And.. I just can't..

.let me live through your eyes.

-h

--

It's been a year and a half.

Two if you rounded up. 

The paper she held, had been frayed and the words almost rubbed off. The last she remembered was the girl had become an Auror. Were it not for her current business associate, who had a penchant for gossiping about his old school chums.. Hermione Granger would have been lost to her.

The Veela lobbed a glance over the latest stash of artifices while she tucked that piece of paper away in her back jeans pocket. "We 'ave to make sure every'sing iz categorized, M'sieur Longbottom.." came her soft instructions. 

Neville Longbottom – the popular (though by unfortunate means), yet short-termed-memory lad of Gryffindor, nodded before he continued his weekly report. Most of which she stifled in the back of her mind, till she heard _her_ name being uttered.

"…Where was I? Ah yeah.. Gin was jus' proposed t'by 'Arry, an as y'know, Bill's still petitionin' 'gainst us. Ahh.. Ron an' 'ermione, lef' th' Burrow for a London sprawl. Says it's much closer t'th'Ministry than naught.. mmm, an' 'ermione made it keenly known t'give 'er regards t'you, 'opin' y'ave time t'write 'er sometime, as always. Didn' know y'too were t'all close…" Neville paused, only because he took a breath. But he carefully looked up towards Fleur – gulping nervously because he had brought up an unspoken taboo, in regards to Hermione Granger.

There was a rumor at school, he recalled which started from one of the other Prefects residing in the Dormitory. Dellis Stoudemire – a Hufflepuff, had caroused the Dorm's kitchenette for a bit of a midnight snack and rounded the guest quarters, only to be stopped dead in his tracks as he spied another Prefect leaving one of the quarters.

Hermione Granger closed the door, with her hand still gripping the knob to that particular door. She rested her forehead against the cool surface- Dellis had strained to hear the words that were being whispered by the Gryffindor prefect, but could only make out the tail-end: "…don't forget me.." then, she had pressed her lips to the object before bounding off in the direction of her room. After a few moments – And as quietly as he could, the Hufflepuff Prefect passed the door – as he did, it swung open to reveal the scantly clad Veela – her shirt had been left unbuttoned leaving her dressed in nothing but her underwear. He paused, like a deer in the headlights.

Fleur was clutching a piece of paper in her right hand, which she eased to the small of her back before borrowing her eyes upon Dellis. "Pardone moi.." she murmured softly, right before she slipped pass the stunned Prefect enroute to who knows where. That story was regaled by the Hufflepuff boy, it spread like wild-fire. Reaching everyone's ears, save Hermione's. 

The year went on, berthing an entirely different Hermione Granger. She had gone from being proactive to almost subdued in personality. Being on the outside of the Clique, Neville noticed – it worried him, but he didn't voice his concern towards Harry, or Ginny, or Ron – they'd look at him as if he were needing to be committed. Hermione on the other hand had always been someone he could turn to, for help in his studies, and for encouraging chats, she even nudged him to try for this position - Lady Luck smiled on him that day. And from then, he solemnly swore to aid Hermione, even if it meant raising the jealous ire of Ron Weasley.

He felt he owed it to Hermione. So taking that rumor – Neville became the bridge. Every time he had mentioned he and Fleur's latest adventure idiom, Hermione's letters had seem to 'perk up'. It wasn't plain to see it happened vice versa. The only time Fleur laxed was when he had brought up the weekly reports of home and the merest mention of the muggle's name. He never did, press on about the relationship, or the truth of that rumor, from Hermione or Fleur.

Suddenly as Neville's reverie was broken by rampant shaking sheets before him. With a sigh, he stood up and yanked the sheets from where they rested – from betwixed, sprung forth an unidentifiable mass that contorted into Serevus Snape – clad in a bustier and netted stockings. "Bugger.. damned boogart.." he muttered. With a gentle flick and swish coupled with a reverberating, "_Ridikulus!_" the one time menace for Neville Longbottom, was warded away.

"Nasty business we're in.. I keep forgetting about some of these objects bein' cursed an' all." Said Neville, almost matter-of-factly. Fleur managed a slight smile. He's definitely come al long way.

Fleur pulled her platinum locks into a loose pony-tail all before donning on thick gloves, never once giving Neville the once over with her icy gaze. This time.. she seemed to have shrugged off the news. Then eased her svelte Veela form towards one of the many crates they'd needed to upload.

"I don't unnerstan' why y'jus' don' use y'magic t'lift that Fleur, y'may 'urt y'self, y'know."

A grunt was had as the Quarter Veela took hold of one end of a crated item, turning her gaze onto Neville, "S'il vous plait, m'sieur Longbottom," a lazy smile crept over his lips. Her voice always melted him so. She motioned with a flick of her eyes towards the other end before murmuring, "B'cause..Pain is good, it lets you know you're alive."

Once they had moved the final object onto the bed of the truck, Fleur said her thanks. And pivoted about heading back to her office.. her place of current hiding. But before she could, Neville gave her pause as he said, "Are you?"

"Am I what, m'sieur Longbottom.."

"Gon' respon' t'Ermione's mail."

"It was addressed to you, non?"

"Well yes..But.."

"I think zat should answer your question."

"But she asked f'you."

"Mon dieu.." Fleur's left hand clapped upon her jean sported thigh before she whirled about, piercing crystalline daggers rooted Neville in place, "Do as you've always done Neville. You know 'ow busy I am. What with, fightin' zat stupid suit from Bill Weasley to ze clientele we 'ave, jus' tell 'er dat. Oui? She will understand. I'm sure." With a pausing breath Fleur motioned towards her office, "Now.. if you don' 'ave anything of import t'say, I mus' get back t'booking our next flight from 'ere to London."

"Right.. Sorry Fleur." Then Neville beamed, "Can't wait to be back in London. Course y'aven't f'gotten tha' lil' invite at th' Ministry's Museum? Thay'll be 'spectin' us, y'know.." Fleur had all about turned from Neville and waved a dismissing hand to acknowledge that she had heard his prose.

Making sure the woman had tucked herself into the office, Neville made his way quickly to the nearest phone, and dialed a number he had embedded into his synapses.

"Yes, collect call t'London, if you please."

__

Click

__

"hullo?"

"Oy. If things go well we'll be leavin' fer London tomorrow, God willin'. She's makin' th' arrangements."

__

"…Really…? I.. hope you and she have a safe flight, Neville."

"Sure, sure. 'Ow is everythin' back 'ome anyway?"

__

"Raining."

"..Still?"

__

"unfortunately, such is London… And there?"

"Hot.. sandy.. Desert-like. But th'outlook is brazenly sunny."

__

"Bring some of that with , would you?"

"Too right. 'Ave a good night, eh?"

__

"mm. I'll see you later, Neville. Thanks."

Click

--

"Who was that, love?"

"Just a co-worker. Calling to remind about the Ministry's party this weekend." 

"Ah. Right then." A brief splay of silence before he shouted his sentiments, "I don't understand why we'd 'ave t'go.. tell me again?"

With a huff Hermione cajoled out, "We work for the Ministry, and your mother and father expect us there.."

"Too right then, ey, you're sure you don't want out t'night? Gin an' 'Arry an' Fred 'n George will be comin' by soonish." 

"I'm.. I'm feeling ill, Ron. Do go on. Please make my excuses."

"Always feeling _ill_ lately. Get t'th'docs soon as y'can. Rather embarrassing y'know, 'avin' t'tell m'family otherwise. Won't 'ave anymore stories t'make up." He called from the living area.

Luckily the doorbell rang, stopping him from bolting up the thin stairwell to check on her. Soon, voices were heard, all of them laughing. All of them _alive_. Hermione had gotten up and eased the door shut. She slapped her hand upon the light switch to darken the room and took seat in front of the bureau. A mirror had been attached to it. Her eyes lifted to regard the woman before her. Where had the time gone? She could hardly recognize herself as she turned her head left to right. Hermione paused, and murmured an incantation. The swelling of her left cheek had subsided at that..

Her eyes listed closed, willing herself to feel those once familial arms about her, "I tried.. I did. But every time I spoke..Everytime I tried to speak..My voice was silenced." She ended up being stripped to her core, left vulnerable for the past year or so. 

Hermione went searching for answers that night of the fair, only to find herself being completed in more ways than the philosophical one. She never knew a touch could be so soft, how simplistic one's breathing could touch her so deeply. She didn't know how to LIVE till that night with Fleur Delacour.

But facing the fantastic, was the reality. She was still with Ron. They hadn't ended. Hermione was cheating. And logically, more so socially.. that was wrong. Hermione was frightened of that. Was frightened on how everyone would think of her were it ever to get out. 

She was a child then. And damned her logic.

But she and Neville were coming back. Hermione's eyes slipped open once again regarding her twin in the mirror. 

"Everything happens for a reason, Hermione.." her twin echoed back. She nodded slowly. So many things began to run through her mind. In the pit of her belly was the growing excitement of seeing Fleur once more, but at the same time.. the fear overwhelmed her because she had turned that part of her away. All in the name of societal norms.

Both her hands, with fingers splayed, slipped into her wavy tresses, only to be entangled, causing a wince to course over her once cherubic features - Ginny had time and time again mentioned how gaunt Hermione had become. Ron always countered with how work's been stressful to her, running her ragged and the like. And they never bothered to press further than that.

It seems her reputation far exceeded her than Hermione knew. Ever the overachiever they left her be, assuming – that's what the woman wanted. Granted, Harry and Ginny were still her friends, still astute about her health and other nuances.. but they had always seemed to turn a blind eye if she even remotely tried to reach out to them. 

Angry at what she'd become, the Muggle Witch sat there, she grabbed at her brush, and determinedly began to flush the bristles against her scalp, tugging ferociously at the knots in her hair. Oblivious to the physical pains – she doggedly persisted. 

"The weekend. It'll be here sooner than you know; I'll not make that mistake again.."

She finally had something to look forward to. And it felt wondrous.

--

It never failed that wherever they were, it was hard to keep a low profile. He was the bumbling assistant, and she the strikingly Goddess-Like mistress. T'would make for a good cinematic feature. Or a book. But never-the-less, once in the bustling heart of Heathrow International Airport, Neville got a kick out of everyone oogling his partner. 

Stationing himself alongside the quarter Veela – Neville afforded a glance about the luggage carousel. Business clad men shifted uncomfortably, some tried to be sneaks and slip off their wedding bands, and quite a few others edged as close they could to get a better view of this woman. Others lobbed a glance towards Neville, harsh whispers eeked past their lips:

"Good lord, what's a right foine lookin' Bang-tail doing with that schmuck?"

"'ee must be a rich sort.. no one in their right.."

"..minds would be .."

"mum.. why's 'ee lookin' greasy?"

No longer clung with the baby fat of long ago, Neville still ascertained a certain look of a prepubescent youth – boyish, and a mite akward. Fleur stole a glance upon Neville's face and caught his somberness

"Som'zing wrong, Neville?"

He scratched the back of his head and forced a grin, "Jus' a bit o'muggle watchin', is all. An' o'course glad t'be back 'ome."

"Oui.." Fleur murmured before reaching forth and snatching her satchel. Catching Neville's glance, Fleur arched her brow – she herself let her eyes run rampant about the luggage bay, listening and watching. Formulating an idea she started puckering her lips, then the woman began to shed a few of not only her icy exterior, but her clothes. Slipping off her Siberian Fez like hat, then letting her hair spill to the small of her back. She followed suit with easing off her white/silver jacket. Beneath which, Fleur donned a spaghettie strapped silver shorn top.

All the articles were handed over to Neville in accordance. Neville never asked for much, but he always gave - his companionship, his all in their business and above all, kept her.. sane. The least she could do was delight one of his 'dreams' and repay him for his time of putting up with her. This was an opportune moment to do just that. She slipped her arm through the crook of Neville's elbow after having grabbed her satchel.

The move surprised Neville, and no less half the flock gathered in the Muggle landing, but none the less, she tugged the doe-eyed man along with her. It finally rung in his mind what Fleur was doing. Flushed, once outside, he murmured his thanks. Fleur only offered a slight cant of her head, "Any'zing for a friend.." He blushed even more pronounced. _She's not as cold as any of those blokes say, _he found himself thinking.

"Tell me again _why _we don' jus' apparate to wherever we need t'be, Fleur?" asked Neville, quickly changing the subject.

"B'cuz.. I like ze airline food." Fleur said straightforwardly. 

"Y'can't be serious.." Were it not for the glint in her Cerulean hued eyes, Neville would have believed her. His lips crested into a chesire grin, soon followed with her musical laugh.

"We do it b'cuz of our Muggle clients az well, Neville. We walk a fine line between our world and theirz." She continued how they had to keep both their worlds on even ground – but separate, if their business was to survive.

He eyed her noting the gentle lilt of her voice, "Glad yuir feeling.. better, Fleur." Not exactly happy, in his eyes, but.. there was a significant change.

The woman side-glanced and asked, "When waz I not?"

"Well.. beggin' yuir pardon, when we weren't in England. Even in France.. you were", Neville made a see-sawing gesture with his left hand, "So-so. Shure'n you 'ad Gabby, but she'n I got t'talkin', an' we jus' noticed a few things is all.."

"She fancies you, Neville – I 'ope you know, zis?" Fleur smirked triumphantly. That was enough to stymie anymore gibber from the man. So much so, he flushed beet. The French-Woman was not prepared for Neville's astute observation. Truth be told, she was a bit apprehensive of returning to London. Fleur, though was a staunch believer in not having History repeat itself.

__

They would have to meet one day. She WILL have her answers. Especially knowing that this Gala, will have every Witch and Wizard in attendance.

Gathering their things, the duo shoved into the cab, and prepped for the long, bumpy ride to Neville's Grandmother's chalet.

--

__

NEXT: the Gala Event, Ron and Fleur face off, but will it be for the benefit of the latter? Or just another Shakespearean Tragedy in the works? - your guess is as good as mine. 


	7. vii semi fini 1

__

.vii – semi fini

~

__

..dizzy..

..throbbing..

..needing..

..raw.

Her head peeled back, her lips parted only to let out nothing but a silent scream. Stifled with a hand cupping her mouth. The young woman's eyes had gone wide – the assault on her senses were too much; so much that she barely felt teeth being inflicted on her right shoulder.

Her hands groped desperately, only to be met with fingers entwining between her own slender digits. The tide wouldn't stop, so it seemed.

"…please…"

"..Just a bit more, 'old to me.."

Sweat licked and sapped of her energy, the wavy tressed youth slumped forth; the tide finally ebbing, her forehead came to rest at the junction of a shoulder and neck. Beneath her, the writhing slowed – and to her surprise, so had her hips.

"W-what happened.." came her meek askance.

The night swallowed any sound, sans _her_ breathless reply..

"..I _loved_ you."

~

Hermione's eyelids were heavy, why she had forced them open – leaving the safe-haven of that memory, was beyond her - but when they did, they were blurred and stung by the grime clinging to her person.

She wanted to go back.

The mind is a wondrous thing. Allowing one to feel things that aren't there and protecting one, from things that are. She often ran to her dreams in states of duress, the only security she had for the past year or two.

Her sense of touch was the first that came back to the Muggle Auror. She found face was flushed to the sodden earth, some of which found its way into the precipice of her partially opened mouth. Every joint was stiffened as she tried to rouse her body to wakefulness. Amazed that her physical self obeyed, Hermione dragged her still sore form against a pile of stalwart rocks. A few going loose at the pressure of her body resting against them.

Slowly by slowly, she righted herself then gave a dry, almost malign laugh – the muck fell from her mouth when she did – This pain hadn't compared to those she fielded at the hands of her another. 

Just then, Hermione lifted her gaze towards the sound of laboured breathing, and scuffing soles upon the cave slick cave floors. His words were filled with terror – the _thing_ was closing in on him. 

"'Arry! 'Ermione!!"

It ached hearing the pulsing throb of her heart ringing in her ears. It started as a burden in her chest and continued to hammer to her throat, a sort of anxiety, an excitement of knowing what was next to come. 

It was named the _Chakara_. An ancient beast of England's long ago past. A shadow demon that dwelled in the heart of the British Isles' rolling emrald mountains. Said to protect the more sinister of magics of the land. It was awakened by poor Muggles that hadn't had a breath of a chance in the end. They were sent to ward it, another bastion of The Dark Lord's old regime.. 

But her mind began to work in other thoughts..

Was she really this sadistic to even THINK of having it _letting _it happen? 

__

Just a few jostles to his body, whispered the back of her mind – How would it make him feel then? Would he understand how it was like to have your back pressed to the wall? She'd not let it hurt him too much.. She would stop it before it brought him to the brink.. 

A split second of that fleeting thought was trickling in her mind – but the moment had past. And only his incessant cries for help remained. Hermione's back pressed further into an enclave of the dank cavern, almost too hard to see, but her eyes had grown accustomed to the moving shadows; she kept herself well hidden from the melee that was just a few feet from her.

"RON! Move!," hollered Harry.

His voiced bounced off the walls, dampening the sound of his feet. Hermione stole a glance towards the pair – in time to witness the Chakara's hulking and darkened mass lunging it's appendages towards Ron; he had ducked just in time, but the tail end of his robes were caught by the beast's fingernails, he fell to his left with only his robe's left in shreds. 

Harry.

Long ago – Hermione had tentatively accused him of having the proverbial _White Knight _complex. In which, at any smidgeon of danger, Harry would take it on his shoulders to save those in peril. He was affronted by the remark. But it never stopped him; Harry still rushed in with no regard to himself nor the consequences of his actions. He loved being the hero.

Hence Harry being the assumed leader of the so-called, _Magnificent Trio_. He would be the one that awed all with his heroism. Every child and adult knew him. Celebrity, had gotten to him and equally rubbed off onto Ron. Yet another thing that bound the two.

__

He'll save his best mate – echoed her mind, _hasn't it always been that way? _Hermione furrowed her brows listening to her mind's warring; her eyes pinioned on the pair attempting to counter the beast's assaults. In a move that seemed incredulous for its size the beast's prehensile tail sniped outward, just as Harry whipped out his wand and attempted to spellcast, _"Avada Ked--!" _Harry never completed it. Hermione's jaw tensed.

It managed to topple the Scarred Man. Ron wailed.

"Bullocks!," hissed Hermione under her breath. Harry should have known better! No physical damage could be dealt a non-corporeal form, especially one berthed from the depths of Hellspawn Magic, it needed to be banished with Light, _White Magics_. It was barreling on them now, so with a decided nod laced with the feeling of guilt, the bedraggled Muggle Witch slipped from the enclave and pulled her wand from the safe-haven of the waist-belt of her jeans. Hermione expertly twirled it between her digits, letting it come to rest at the junction of her thumb and index finger she pointed center mass at the creature.

__

" Quickly! Shield your eyes!," cried Hermione, "_Cielo Lumina!"_ Whether the men complied, she had not spared a second.

With its back to her, the Chakara failed to notice what had hit it. An ethereal blinding light boomed from the tip of her wand, engulfing the lot, when it finally had faded the demon had dissapated into complete nothingness. With a few more shaky flicks of her wand, Hermione murmured a continuous string of an incantation. Eerie fluorescent blue runes etched themselves onto the walls of the cavernous expanse.

"There.." rasped Hermione, "The cavern _should_ be sealed from further attacks."

She slid her weary gaze towards the two, slipping her wand back into its cradle. Ron had finally gotten to his feet, clopping his hands upon his robes. Healthy dust plumes were exacted from his lanky frame. Harry was no worse for wear. He took off his glasses and gave a disgruntled grunt.

"Hermione, what was the…"

"..Occulus repairum."

"Ah, right then – thanks."

"Whoo!", interjected Ron, causing the two to glance to him. "_that_, was bloody brilliant, wasn't it? Did a right number on me robes, dija see?" Proudly, the red haired man, brandished the fringes of his robes. "Make a wondrous team we do – which.. by the by, thanks for the save mate."

Harry offered a soot face smile and a shrug. Slipping his now fixed spectacles back upon the bridge of his nose, he called out to Hermione who was busily kicking up the remnants of the Chakara, prepping to vile it up.

"We couldn't have done it….," Harry began.

"_without you, Hermione…_", mouthed the Muggle in continuous fashion as her back was facing the two males. Automatically, without her realizing it, Hermione had plastered a plastic smile upon her lips. She lobbed a glance towards Harry offering a cracked, "It's nothing." Hermione motioned about before quickly adding, "I suppose we had better get to it. The office will be expecting an account..and.."

She stopped short as Ron and Harry shared quick glances, Ron fixedly looking on Harry and urging him with a, "Go on." Hermione knew what was coming, it always amounted to this.. and she still bended to their whims.

Harry nodded towards Ron and said nervously, "Well.. you see, Hermione – You know how Ron and I are.. well.. terrible at writing reports and, well.."

"We'd like _you _to divvy up a little nook on the matter, lovie. Told 'Arry you wouldn't mind. Isn't that right?" Ron announced almost pompously to Hermione. "We've just reserved the Pitch for a little scrimmage with a few mates from th' ol' 'Ogwarts days. What with Quidditch starting up an' all... T'would 'elp us get in th' mood, eh?"

Hermione shifted her form from resting on leg to the other, before crossing her grimy arms over her midsection. To her surprise and utter relief, her smile remained. Where her voice seemingly failed her, the Muggle Witch offered jerky nod before stealing her eyes away.

"Excellent!", bemused Ron. "Well then 'Arry, since our business is done 'ere, we'd better get a move on, blokes'd be waiting for us, round abouts now – Apparate there in a blink, shan't be a problem." He paused for a breath, then quickly added, "Ready, then?"

"..Go on, Ron, let the lads know I'll be on my way, few things t'tidy up here."

With a shrug, Ron gathered himself up and gave a hefty wave of his wand. Swallowed whole by a spectacular cloud of blues and silver, he was gone.

Harry turned to find Hermione perched upon a flat surfaced outcropping, with a branch of Gerbathian Fire levitated above her. She had already begun to scribble upon a piece of parchment.

"We..thought.."

"Can't hear you Harry, if you've not noticed.. I'm writing up _our little nook_ – as it's due."

He cleared his throat, "..Hadn't expect it to work out like this, but the best opportunity, I suppose." Hermione continued to feverishly write, "I'll make sure that he'll get back to you, right tired. So's he'll not.. _bother_ you tonight." Harry stated knowingly.

The quill scratching stopped. Hermione never bothered to turn to look at Harry. His intonation stated it as plain as day.

"Ginny suggested a day at the shoppes in London; She'll be waiting at your flat – seeing how the Gala's tomorrow night..", continued Harry gamefully, "Treat yourself, Hermione forget about your _worries._"

"Is that was you call it then.. _worries?_," countered Hermione with a soft, yet slow burgeoning anger at which she shortly said, "How long have you _known_."

"Easy, Hermione…Much too long.." He sounded sorry – but at the same time, unconvinced at the idea; his own voice began to rise. That infamous temper Harry held would be no match for her own fury – gambled Hermione. 

"..You had forgotten to heal your arm, I reckon. That one Christmas dinner, a year ago. The _others_ mentioned it..I don't.. didn't want to believe it…" Of course he couldn't very well believe it, Ron was his loyal friend.

"Others??"

"Yeah, Fred, George, Gin..," listed Harry matter-of-factly.

What was she to say about it? Was she to remain angry for something that wasn't their fault? It took everything she had in her to quell those insipid feelings. But with a labored swallow she had managed. Not once did she face Harry. This time around, it wasn't all about him. About the Boy-Who-Lived. The silence that strung between them seemed as if it stretched an eternity. Hermione's back stiffened then relaxed. Harry stared dead on at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze. 

"You'd better get on," She said evenly, "They'll be waiting for you." Then, with determined scratching of her quill, Hermione returned to her parchment as a soft poff was heard behind her.

--

They had certainly _looked_ happy. 

The image of the pair moved, the red-headed man was seen sneaking in a chaste kiss upon the woman held captive in his arms. Ginny gave a slight wrinkle of her nose accompanied with a soft chuckle. Seeing her brother so.. cozy with someone turned her stomach – but.. he was after all, happy. Her eyes then affixed onto his companion, and she gave a heavy sigh.

Ginny knew the woman had problems – ever since that rumor of _unnatural _relations with Fleur had come out in school.. she'd not been the same – The muggle, though highly irritating, had always been a staunch woman, her morals never wavered. 

__

'Hermione would never, ever in a million years do what those rumors insinuated. It's not in her character after all, a too right Drama Queen at times, yes perhaps wanting attention…' , reasoned Ginny.

Ginny convinced herself, though, that all those.. 'pock marks' and bruises were self inflicted. Never believing her brother would ever.. EVER do that. She aimed to set Hermione right, help her in someway. This may very well be the first step.

"It's all because of that blasted Veela! First Bill, now Hermione.." the very thought of Fleur Delacour raised an ire in the pit of her stomach. "She's been nothing but trouble for our family." Ginny muttered to no one but herself.

Just then, a distinct cracking sound of an apparation was heard from Ron and Hermione's foyer. Ginny set the picture-frame beck upon the nearest shelving and left to investigate. 

"Well..It's about _bleeding_ time, isn't it?," called Ginny.

Hermione lifted her rosewood gaze to meet Ginny's eyes. The red head slipped her way from the steps and rested upon even footing at the landing. Ginny clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and teasingly chastised her would-be sister in law, "You look positively dreadful." Her eyes danced over Hermione's form noting all the minor scrapes, shredded wear and blotted skin. "And this is why we're going shopping, you very well can't show up at the Gala as such."

"I can't Ginny - I've.. I've work to do," exhaled Hermione.

"I've always thought you lot worked too hard," Ginny countered non chalantly, "No rainchecks, no half-hearted promises.. I'm to take you out, and we're to have a blasted good time, right? Good." Ginny pulled out her wand giving it a flick and swish.

__

"Scourgify."

Before any protests were provided by the once-Prefect, a soft mist of mauve and burgundy swirled abouts her. Tendrils drifted through Hermione's somewhat tangled tresses, leaving behind a scent of Jasmine, in effect, taming her wiley mane. About her face the mist seemed to tingle alive, 'scrubbing', if you will, the soot and sweat from her. Once the plume had evaporated, Ginny offered a smug grunting grin.

"Much better, and a bloody well lot QUICKER than your run of the mill shower." The much younger woman had given Hermione yet another quick once over and announced, "Wear could be a trifle more well to do, but.." she had tapped Hermione upon her forehead with the tip of her wand and in an instant, the elder woman's tattered garb had been shifted – mended of the battle scars that she had garnered just a few hours ago. 

Taking hold of Hermione's wrist, Ginny tugged her would-be Sister-In-Law out into the waning London daylight – much to the Muggle's dismay. Hermione pulled the collar of her coat about her neck just as a stiff wind kicked up, before she paused at a most disturbing sight. At the curb along 25th and Rodham, sat a schitzophrenically colored Mini Cooper. Flourescent greens, yellows and pinks swirled together to form misshapen flowers, liken to a trip of the 1960s.

Hermione gave off a tiny, yet surprised, "Oh.." Causing Ginny to beam madly.

"Like it then?"

"Ginny.. what.. what IS that?"

"Silly girl – it's a _car_, and here I thought you were a Muggle."

"Crikey Gin, I KNOW it's a car.. but.. why would you have a it?"

"Och well, _that_ – Harry knew I'd fancy to drive right soon, since we are moving near you lot – and well.. since EVERYONE has these things – I might as well do as all muggles do, eh? So.. we decided to get one. Mind.. I'm _still_ a mite rusty, but I do well enough."

She motioned in and grudgingly Hermione slid into the passenger's side. Quickly enough she had snapped the belt into place, when Ginny eeked in and questioned, "By the by, luv - What does it mean when Muggles _honk_?"

--

"Stop gaffawing, it is effectively rude. I thought I taught you better."

"Sorry gran."

"mmph." Mrs. Longbottom motioned towards her already emptied te cup, and Neville responded with a practiced movement – pouring the remaining bits of liquid from the pot into the aforementioned. She cupped the chalice gently, nursing her drink, but all the while training her eyes upon her only grandchild.

His gaze was fixated upon their houseguest, the Platinum haired beauty whom he had introduced as his 'partner and friend.' The boisterous woman parted the lip of the cup from her own, before lobbing a look onto the female on horseback. Her eyes traveled back onto Neville before remarking softly but ever in that chastising tone, "Close your mouth Neville."

Neville blinked furtively and flushed a deep beet. "Yes ma'am." He settled back onto the seat opposite his stalwart Grandmother. It seemed to him that this woman would go on living forever, tougher than leather, always riding him on every little nuance. He never minded though. Despite her strict ways, he loved her. "More crackers Gran?"

Mrs. Longbottom shook her silvered wisps in negation. "Mind, Neville - company." Just as she had said that, Fleur, framed by the dusky hues of nightfall, made her way onto their country estate porch. "Miss Delacour, enjoyed your ride, I see?"

Fleur, helping herself to the pitcher of Lemonade set out, nodded agreeably, "Oui ma'amoiselle Longbottom, but I sink it would 'ave been more appealing were someone.." she paused and nudged Neville's foot with her leathered riding boot, "..would 'ave joined moi?", chuckled Fleur. 

"Horses dinnae like me much, I'm afraid, Fleur.", confessed Neville.

The silver haired Veela mearly clucked her tongue and shook her head, "Zen I would 'ave taught you, mez amis." All before she turned her crystalling eyes onto Mrs. Longbottom, "you 'ave ze mos' beautiful acreage I 'ave ever 'ad ze pleasure of visiting. Merci.. for 'aving me.

"The pleasure has is reciprocated ten-fold, my dear." Mrs. Longbottom set the teacup back unto its platter gently. "Are you two ready then for the morrow's gala?"

Neville quickly bobbed his head – "yes, Gran. I've got me tux all laid out an' pressed. I still don't understand why we have to gussy up in muggle attire."

"Arthur Weasley and his bloody infatuation with the culture I suppose. Never had a Minister of Magic as.. enigmatic as he. That should explain enough about the matter Neville.", chortled Mrs. Longbottom.

"Will you not be joining us zen, Madame?"

"Goodness I, girl..." The woman shifted laboriously so to regard Fleur with her handsomely etched face. Neville, quick on the uptake, eased form his seat to automatically come to his Gran's aid. At which Mrs. Longbottom, swatted his hands away, "Thank you Neville, but I'm not that invalid – yet…" her eyes flicked unto Fleur's chuckling features, "I've out, how do you young one's say, _out partied_ meself, I'm afraid. Not since that whole bruhaha with You-Know-Who, I'd much prefer to doll abouts the daisies than muck it up in some sodden suaree." Mrs. Longbottom finished perfunctorily as she looked from Neville, who was stealing longing gazes at Fleur to Fleur who often.. just lost herself in her own thoughts, but had enough manners in her to afford a congenial dip of her veela head to an old maid.

"Besides that – is it not a celebration also in which to honor the both of you and your little escapades, as well as bieng the birthday for the MInistry?"

Neville began to stammer, Fleur beamed an almost impish smirk.

"Somewhat."

Mrs. Longbottom looked thoughtful for a beat and nodded. Neville had started to wring his hands nervously, and she sensed that something urgent needed to be said; the pair needed to be alone. Inwardly she hoped Fleur wouldn't hurt Neville too badly. Mrs. Longbottom had been a young woman once – she knew the look of love and non-love intimately. And for these two, it was plain to see in their eyes, the emotions that burbled there.

As Neville wrung his hands together continuously, Mrs. Longbottom rose tiredly to her feet. As soon as Neville and Fleur made for her, she held a leathered had aloft, "don't make me curse the pair of you..I'm still a dead fast draw.," she mused. Carefully she eased herself towards her Grandson and offered a chaffed kiss to his temple. Causing him to blush even more pronouncedly. "Get it off your chest, boy.", came her hoarsy whisper. "And you," she motioned with a jut of her chin towards Fleur, "..I hope you find what you're looking for." And with that, she turned about and left.

"I'm.. sorry."

"For? Your Granmuzzer is refreshing, Neville. I can see why you love 'er immensely."

He stuffed his busy hands into his slack's pockets. "yeah.. yeah.. Fleur.. can I ask y'something, then?" Sipping from her cup, Fleur offered a soft grunt in acknowledgement. "Right..well, d'you consider me a frien' an' all?"

"Mm. Oui."

"Could you ever.. I mean t'say.. we've been workin' t'gether f'a'while, an'.." Neville at this point was pacing before Fleur, not once meeting her eyes. Patiently she waited for him to gather his thoughts. Her arms crossed over the full of her chest. But a beat of a breath, Fleur caught Neville's gaze.

Emboldened by that meeting of their eyes Neville, sucked in his breath.

"Fleur I.. would you..do you.."

"Don'." whispered Fleur. It was a mere flutter of an eye, not even a second past. A slender digit had gone to rest gently upon his lips ceasing any flow of words that may have formed in the pit of his palette. Neville's gaze had gone wide with fright. Fleur's own evenly met his as she continued. 

"You 'ave meant a great deal to me Neville, your companionship, your frien'ship – I cherish zat. I am sorry I cannot give you what you want. So please.. don' ask me to. It's not _mine_ any longer.." Her hand dropped to her side, in a defeated manner. "I am Veela.. what you feel.."

"Is not up to you to decide, is it?", said Neville softly. "..what I feel f'you, goes b'yond your lineage.." he shrugged, "I'm not that daft, y'know."

"I never said, I _would never_ say zat about you!"

Immediately Neville steeped closer, his hands going to rest upon Fleur's shoulders, with the words that fell from his lips, he brushed aside her comment, "I.. care f'you, Fleur Delacour, b-but not in the way _yuir _thinkin," lied Neville. "You've been a grande lady and an even grander friend. But..what I –was- goin' t'ask y'was..", he managed a weak smile through his falsehood and embarassment, "Is _she_ goin' t'realize in time?"

Taken aback, Fleur's mouth worked open and closed, never finding voice to what was running through her mind. The end resultant was – there was no more questions as to who the _she_ was.

"I don't think ill of you t'all, please…"

Lowering her gaze, Fleur allowed for a few forced rippling motions of her throat as she swallowed, "Was it zat obvious.."

"Y'hid it well, it's jus'.. _now_ it clicked." Neville tugged her into a gentle embrace, to which she didn't fight. When he pulled back, he didn't meet her eyes, "If yuir apt - I'd _like _t'ear yuir story… Dellis Stoudemire's version o'tha night, I'm sure was overblown.."

"..I've 'eard it regaled a few times.. Ze latest one I recall 'ad me tying 'er to ze bed an' making 'er my zombie love slave..", laughed Fleur, rather sourly. "I am 'oping to put closure to zis, Neville.. more zan anysing.."

--

Turning the knob to their flat, Hermione gained entry, only to find a few of their lamps had already been lit. It was well into the night-hours before she and Ginny had returned from their shopping spree. And she had to admit, at least to herself – it was wonderful being free from those ties that bind.

"Seems the blokes made it back alright," murmured Ginny as she rounded the foyer enroute to the den.

"Mm," came Hermione's soft response. Following suit, the year older woman laid her things out on the nearest couch. "D'you think.. he's asleep?" Ginny's back was to her; as she looked upon the red-head though, she had gave a bit of a pause. Hermione needed to talk – tired of the stress of holding it in her. But how would both she and Harry feel?

"He could be. I don't know," said Ginny shortly.

"He is that," murmured Harry, who now joined the pair. He ambled towards Ginny and offered a quick, almost embarrassed kiss to her cheek. At which, the young woman scoffed. Hermione had already looked away and gone to tend to the fireplace. Beginning to stoke it alive - It was getting on in the night.. and upon the onset of the winter season, their flat had gone a few degrees colder. 

"Good," said Hermione absently. "are you two in a hurry, then?"

Harry and Ginny shared wary looks before Harry offered his fiancee a gentle squeeze in reassurance on her arm, "Is there somethin' you need, Hermione?"

The flames of the slight hearth roared to life at the final prod of the stoker. It's warmth was encouraging, Hermione. With a long drawn in breath, followed with the flat of her palm pressing her loose wavy curls, she lobbed a tired glance over to the two. "I.. had thought we could chat a mite," without meaning to, her voice had unceremoniously cracked. "If you two wouldn't mind..?" Harry answered for the both of them when he shook his head in negation. "Right. Have a seat then?"

Their forms were immediately imprinted upon the sofa nearest the fireplace - Hermione, on the other hand, had too much in her to sit still. Stealing glances upon the pair, she told herself that they were her friends, if they had already had an inkling of what was going on, why not.. confess the whole lot of it? Rather than have them guess.

"Spit it out, will you.." goaded Ginny; never one for beating about the bush.

"Right, yes.. Right. I'm.. I'm tired.."

With a roll of her eyes and Harry's furrow of his brows, Ginny exasperated, "If that's all then go to bed, Hermione."

"No, no.. not in the manner that you think!" Hermione pleaded, "I have some.. some confessions to make, to tell you both of.. and I'm just tired of running from them.. and you, my friends."

They continued to stare curiously, but settled back listening.. Harry gave a slight nod of his head, indicative for her to go on.

Keeping her voice low, Hermione started to tell her tale – how.. incredulous as it seemed, the meeting of a stranger's… Fleur's… eyes had struck something deep within her, making her realize things in her life; how the years could change a person; how.. Ron had first struck her. And had since then, been abusing her – shifting ever subtlely to Emotional Sabotage. She had burst, telling them everything that had been infecting her for so long. Carefully, Hermione, though under this intense scrutiny, omitted the mention of Fleur - some aspects of the heart need not be mapped aloud.

As the night grew longer, only Hermione's voice spoke volumes.

--

The next day bled into the night of the Gala. Hermione felt a sense of relief from the telling of her story. That.. nothing could go wrong - In the end she had told both Harry and Ginny, that she needed to see Fleur, to talk to her.. If they could only help to keep Ron distracted for just a few minutes. Harry agreed, surprising Hermione.

With a glance afforded at the digital clock on her night-stand.. Hermione's heart gave a start. Forty-five more minutes danced on till the event. She gently curled her digits about the base of her lipstick and eased the light mauve color upon her lips, just as the sound of Ron's disgruntled curses swam from their closet.

"For crikey's SAKE! 'Ow th'bloody 'ell is this supposed t'go abouts one's neck??"

He had flounced out with the bow-tie crumpled in his balled fist. "I'd been putzing about with his bullockin' thing for twenty some odd minutes! YOU do it. You're a Muggle, you should know." Ron spat annoyingly. His tyraid only ceased when Hermione rose from her seat before her vanity mirror.

She was clad in a simple off the shoulder burgundy dress of which its train pooled about her feet. Her hair had been gathered up into a French-Bun – accented with a Zirconian clasp. About her neck was a cluster of pearls that gently hugged her swan like neck. As her eyes rose to meet Ron's, he gulped – quickly regaining his senses, he said, "Should dress yourself up a bit more, maybe then you'd not look as sickly.."

Hermione had noted Ron's ire was a constant thing during the day, especially upon his return from visiting his family at the Burrow. She had been careful not to aggravate him more, but.. As she was the only person in near proximity for him to loose his rage, Hermione was a target. Easing herself closer to Ron, her eyes lowered to the crumpled fabric that he threw at her; cautiously as she could muster Hermione slipped the article about his neck and collar.

Deftly her fingers worked with practiced ease, until her wrists were gripped almost too ferociously by one of his mammoth, calloused paws; her eyes snapped upwards to meet his fire-laced gaze. 

"It's TIGHT," he hissed.

"..It's just a bit snug, is all Ron," pleaded Hermione.

"I should know, 'Ermione – I'm wearing th' blasted thing." 

Her mouth had gone dry, her heart raced, threatening to burst from her chest. Their doorbell had rung, offering her the saving grace she needed. Ron immediately loosed his grip and glanced to her giving her a once over.

"Tha' should be everyone.. don't dawdle." He paused and gave her a lopsided smile, "..After all, we wouldn't want to miss this mem'rable night, isn't tha' right lovie."

--

They had been one of the later arrivals, initially because it was harder to find the Ministry's portal opening. The powers that be had moved the opening from that overburdened Telephone Booth to the round about of Picadilly Circus hidden amongst the cluster of the fountain statue right in the middle of it all. It was the perfect locale. Muggles loitering about igniting London's nightlife. So.. the magical Populace gussied up in attire befit an outing to the Opera was spot on. No one thought it unusual. .

"I sink.. we 'ave found it.."

Neville inclined his head to regard the burlesque statue. Spying a little Cherubic Angel sticking out upon the left hand side of it. He trifled with his collar before Fleur reached out and gently wrested her companion's hand to the side.

"Ehh.. sorry." 

Neville shifted his gaze back unto Fleur, who's flowing river of silver hair, had been curled loosely; it fanned just above the small of her back. Of which was opened to the elements. Her skin was bronzed evenly, giving her an even more exotic look. She wore a Spaghetti Strapped silk-like dress, slit along one side to about higher than mid-thigh; frosted with sequenze it added to her scintillating elegance. A singular diamond graced her supple neck, shaped in a tear – the only accent that capped off her visage.

"If I hadn't mentioned – you look absolutely smashing.." 

She smiled then eased her tall frame alongside his and eased her arm at his offered elbow. "It's time."

And with a caress of her hand over the Cherub's belly, they were swallowed whole. After the line of Magic and Reality blurred, both her and Neville's feet were planted on a plush carpet of deep wine. What greeted their eyes was ultimately impressive and even a bit daunting.

Above an enchanted stringed Quartet played the haunting melodies of long dead composers, as the slew of bodies upon the floor of the Ministry were being encircled upon by illusory butterflies – trailed by pixie dust. Platters upon platters of finger food freely floated, weaving through the masses and only stopping with a mere calling.

__

Ahem

Fleur and Neville managed to peel their gazes from the elaborate décor towards a plump, yet beaming Witch. She affixed her half-moon spectacles upon the bridge of her nose and she cheerily mused out, "Invitations..?"

"Ah, yes.." Neville slipped his hand into the depths of his tux jacket and pulled out the card with their names, swirling upon it in quicksilver writing. Taking it, the jovial Witch beamed a smile and tittered towards the nearest, turn of the century clad footman. His powdered wig have a little jostle as he bellowed, his voice resounding in the huge hallway.

"Mr. Neville Longbottom & Ms Fleur DeLacour… from the _The Mystical Unknown, R & P, Co.._"

--

Hermione's grip became white knuckled upon the banister where it rested, she peered down to the landing and instantly rested her eyes on a sight that she's not seen in two years. From behind her she could hear the deep basso laughter of Ron, Harry, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and a few others from their Hogwarts days. All slipping into soft white noise. She had failed to notice another body came to rest along the railing beside her own fixated form.

"..I'll admit. She's readily attractive. Quite the Eye-Candy.."

Startled by the voice, Hermione's eyes grudgingly eased from Fleur towards her side. Ginny's flaming mop of hair brought her back to the now. Along with the gentle heat crawling upon her cheeks. Ginny arched her brow precariously as she observed Hermione.

"..She is.. quite," came Hermione's softer response. 

Ginny's gaze drifted from Hermione to Neville and Fleur, already gliding upon the dancefloor, "Is it true then. The _rumor_ that was spread about you and she long ago?" Hermione didn't answer. The bluntness that oozed from Ginny's lips had caught her off guard. Her fingers fumbled at the necklace upon her throat.

"Mm. I don't quite understand it, Hermione. It's.. it's _unnatural_ the way you look at her. I mean.. how _could_ you? If you gave my brother another chance.."

Hermione chanced a look behind her to find Ron gulping down another chaser of Firewhiskey – she let loose a soft sigh and then turned to regard Ginny, "If what I told you and Harry had no credence to anything then I don't know how else to put it Ginny. There are two sides to every coin, and if you can't accept what your brother is.."

"..Pardon my saying, Hermione, but who are you to tell me what I can and cannot accept? You who does nothing but sit on her arse all bleedin' day long pining for some woebegone SNATCH who used YOU for a one night STAND?" Ginny's voice rose in decibals equal to the flush of red covering the bridge of her nose, to her cheeks and no doubt.. her ears. "Grow up Hermione, use your common sense, instead of thinking with the wrong parts of your body."

"Why are you.."

"Because he's my BROTHER! Be damned if I'll see him hurt for your.. your Drama Queening!"

"Problems…?"

Hermione lifted her eyes from Ginny to meet Ron's inquiring look. Ginny looked away and unto the dance floor where Fleur was already ensconced in the arms of another man. "Didn't think so..well.." Ron's hand sniped out and grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Dance then? Good. Ta, Gin."

Dragging Hermione unto the landing leading towards the dancefloor, Ron's grip never lessened in its ferocity, causing Hermione to balance between the pain being elicited and the bodies she haphazardly collided into. Once he was satisfied at where they were positioned.. he yanked her into his arms, lowering his head to only allow his lips to graze ever lightly upon her earlobe.

"Got my sister in a right tiff y'did.. Never saw 'er like that. What were you talkin' about eh?"

Not too far away.. the familial bob of white-blonde head appeared in and out among the sea of bodies on the floor. Ron.. had been watching. His arms coursed tighter about Hermione's form. "Oh.. _her_." He scoffed, "Nice taste though, I give you tha' much.."

Hermione's eyes widened and Ron continued, "D'you think I'd'a not known?" 

"Ginny," realised Hermione suddenly.

"Blood is thicker 'n anythin'."

The stench of liquor clung heavily on Ron's breath, she didn't know how much he'd had, "Ron please.. you've.. you've drunk too much.. let's.. let's sit? Please?" Her voice wavered, there was no denying she was afraid. But before he could negate or instigate anything a deep contralto voice cut in from behind the troubled pair.

"M'sieur Weasley.. per'aps you should _listen_, to ze woman, oui..?"

--

__

It seems.. I have to make my apologies.. for one.. taking too long to get this installment out.. and two, lying and saying everything will be wrapped up in this chapter. :p It turns out.. the story wanted to write itself. From the looks of it, it went off on a tangent.. 

Expect the next to tie up loose ends. R&R always welcomed! And my apologies again..


	8. viii now it's done

_.viii – end_

_--_

_"..Fly me to the moon _

_...And let me play among the stars"_

_~Sinatra c/o Megmi Hayashibara_

_--_

"..Fleur..", whispered Hermione.

Ron, at that, turned slowly to regard the Veela with his inebriated glossed over eyes.

"Beggin' yuir pardon, Miss," harshly spat Ron, "We're dancin', just so y'know.  So, _piss off_."  His grip then tightened so much that Hermione let loose a soft whimper.

Fleur's gaze hadn't wavered from Ron and never once strayed to look upon Hermione.  The woman softly offered, "Admirable as zat is, m'sieur Weasley.. If you listened, you would be aware zat ze music, 'as stopped, oui?"

Looking about, he tensed as everyone in near proximity had rippled their gazes unto himself and Hermione.  His ears nigh bled red.  It's not a wonder Bill _despised_ Fleur.  Standing there, all high and mighty; and she.. just embarrassed him – A Weasley – in front of the whole of Wizard-kind.  

The days for such embarrassment on his family were supposed to be over.  They were the last on the ladder's rung, always striving for the top.  His father was the Minister of Magic now, Ron an accomplished auror.  Ginny an exceptional Quidditch Chaser for the London Royales, and the twins.. with their booming Joke Shops running at two locales, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade..were by far, the more popular of the Weasley brood.  Charlie, Bill and even Percy _(after it was realized, he had been placed under the employ of the Ministry and Cornelius Fudge as a mole by Dumbledore)_ respectively had already established themselves.

They've made it far.  Far be it from him to let anyone talk them down once more.

And yet…

There was _that _woman, looking at him expectantly.  He never swelled with so much dislike – it rivaled yet another Platinum Blonde haired lout.  Draco Malfoy.  At this, Ron concluded they all must come from the same gene pool.  His eyes sniped towards Hermione at the touch of his arm. 

_"What,"_  he sneered out.

"Ron.. please, I'm a bit parched, maybe we _should_ seat ourselves," murmured Hermione tentatively.

"Fine, get me the bloody 'ell away from 'er - or else I'll vomit my insides out.." Ron hissed agitatedly before turning on his heel and stomping off leaving Hermione in his wake.

Hermione glanced after Ron, before drawing her eyes upon Fleur.  Her breathing stilled.  It's been two years since she's had _those_ eyes barrel into her.  Fleur crossed her arms over the gentle swell of her chest, her face ever serene, not once betraying her thoughts. The muggle didn't know what to think.. or what to do.  The world around them flurried into life once more as the confrontation was settled.  But everything..  everything that was in Hermione slowed.  They shared the same breadth of time once more..

"Ah.. there you are Ma'amoiselle Delacour," squeaked out Flitwick, a member of the High Consul,  Ministry Museum Curator, and still professor at Hogwarts.  The vertically challenged Professor, glanced to and fro Fleur and Hermione, "Oh.. oh my.. have I interrupted something of import?"

Searching Hermione's gaze, Fleur found.. a veil of nothing.  Her gaze lowered towards the good Professor, "..is zere somesing you need M'sieur Flitwick..?" skirted the French woman.

"Yes yes,  there is actually, the uh board members are requesting yours and Mr. Longbottom's appearance, just out in the enchanted balcony, shall I tell them your apt, or.. not?"

Stealing a glance unto Hermione, who's eyes had been shifted elsewhere, Fleur exhaled softly, "Lead the way M'sieur."

As Fleur left, Hermione screwed her eyes shut – her body shook;  she felt weak.  She missed her opportunity.  Dizzied, the muggle left the floor headed towards Ron and the others.

It wasn't difficult to ascertain what Ron was all a dither about as she neared.  The whole brood was there, a few nodded at Ron's prose, some chipped in.

"Haughty witch.."

"No clue what Neville sees in 'er."

"They boinkin', d'you think?"

"GEORGE!"

"Ey!  He's George, I'm Fred!"

"fine.. FRED!  Such language!"

"I hate her," growled Ron in finality causing the bickering to near cease; Harry in turn, lowered his eyes towards his drink.  Ginny, at his side agreed with Ron almost instantly.  He sideglanced to his right, then, catching the blur of onyx colored heels clacking in their direction. 

"Took you fairly long enough to get back 'ere, love," said Ron gutturally.

"I had thought – I.. should see if you'd all like something to drink.. or.. more of what you have," replied Hermione as she was acknowledged with Ron's remark.  They had all turned their heads to regard her.  A sea of red, dotted by one dark haired male.

"Brilliant idear there Hermione,"quipped George, "And that's why you were Head Girl, eh?"

Hermione offered a blinding smile, hoping to assuage the current topic of conversation.  Every word used to slander Fleur chipped at her heart.  At all costs she avoided Ginny's burrowing gaze.

"And that's why she's with me," gloated Ron. "Firewhiskey Chaser love." 

With a decided nod, Hermione gathered all their orders and made quick work to leave that acid-laced atmosphere.  She was eternally greatful that the wet-bar was across the once dancefloor, taking her further away.  Once at her point of destination, she rested against the lip of the bar, awaiting to be tended to, but movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention.

There were two towering French-like glass doors, arching magnificently.  And just beyond that was seemingly a balcony, only barely hidden by a pair of draped, billowing transluscent curtains.  People began to filter from the balcony, all with predominantly cheerful features.  Till only two familiar profiles were left behind.  The more striking of the pair cut a perfect silouhette.  Hermione's breath caught.

"Now or bloody never.." she chided herself.

--

"That went well, don't y'think?"

"mm..I was, surprised zey agreed so lend us ze galleons for ze expidition.."

"T'was your charm, ma'amoiselle."

Fleur clucked her tongue upon the roof of her mouth, "Flattery m'sieur Longbottom – will get you everywhere – at least, wiz me."  She turned her gaze out into the enchanted night sky. 

Magic - It made this balcony feel real, offering even a gentle breeze to waft about her; sending her hair chaotically about.  As magic may be an answer to some things – it cannot aid others.  She pressed her body against the cool of the masonry ledge peering out unto the diamond dotted midnight sky.

"Of all ze sings to 'unt for.."

"Well.. at leas' Bill Weasley didn' get th' call from Flitwick."

"Zere is zat, oui – Dredge up all you can on ze subject – We will start wiz ze Giza's missing top."  Fleur gave a hearty laugh, "Bill will not like us on 'is _turf_, non?"

"..I shouldn't think he would, he's got it in for you, Ms Delacour.."

Fleur's form went ram-rod stiff, her head dipped, before she dared to steal a look over her shoulder to affirm the owner of that voice, slowly.. her silver topped head drew back out into the forever expanse of the enchanted overlook.  

Neville gave a bit of an excusing cough, feeling the sudden change in atmospherics – the akward heaviness.  His gaze traversed between the women.  Hermione seemed lost, he noted, and Fleur.. well.. she was being Fleur.  Neville backpedaled, saying "I'll get on tha' then, Fleur…"  a pause he half-bowed to Hermione, "'Ermione, lookin' well."

Hermione's reverie was broken as she realized she was being addressed, canting her head to one side, she offered Neville a genuine soft smile, "And you as well, Neville – it's.. wonderful to see once more."

He beamed while she eased forth and offered a chaste kiss to the man's cheek, "We'll 'ave t'catch up sometime, eh?  If you'll both 'scuse me.." 

With a scuffed cloppings of Neville's loafers, Fleur knew that they were alone.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"I did.. You didn' seem to see me," murmured Fleur. "..Did I 'orrify you zat much?  What was it you to you?"  Her voice quivered causing her to immediately set her eyes forth, lest she seem weaker than naught.  And this wasn't a time to show such. 

Hermione was so close to her that if she dared, her hand could reach out and rest on the French Woman's bared back.  But at Fleur's question, she gave pause, furrowing her brow.

"..no." paused Hermione, "Didn't you.. you read my note.. I left it for you.."

Fleur scoffed as she interjected heatedly, "_Merde, _every night.."  the Charm-Breaking aintiquities hunter added, as she stood there slowly losing her composure.  The hands that were placed upon the stone rail-way curled into fists, "Was zat supposed to explain every'sing?"

"Everything that was IN me during that time, yes!" Hermione retorted.

With her back still to the Muggle Witch, Fleur asked, "..An' now?  Tell me.. what LOGICAL answer you could poss'bly  'ave."

It was an eternity before Hermione spoke.

"I was a child.  I was scared..  I .. I had no right to feel what I felt for you, so I thought.. it must have been illusory.. because, it happened on a whim.."

Inwardly Fleur caved little by little with each word being uttered by Hermione; it was it seems, just a flight of fancy after all – What was she expecting?  It was bound to happen, wasn't it?  For every game she played with other's hearts, now was her cummepance.   Fleur felt sick, she wanted to leave this place _now_; her head listed forth, allowing her Silver mane to fan, in effect hiding her features.  __

_Fool. _

But then..

It was a breath, nothing louder than a whisper over her ears, but it was Hermione's voice, as solid as the Magically created balcony was, she almost _missed _what was said. Were it not for the railing, the Frenchwoman's knees would have given way.  Hermione softly.. repeated it the effect was simply potent, more than any magics learned.

".._Fleur_..", Hermione breathed out again, it hadn't mattered to her that Fleur hadn't responded, she pressed on with a gentle chuckle, "..Funny.. I feel like I've come home each time I say your name.."

Hermione found herself right at the much taller woman's back – so close, that she was breathing in her scent, "Jasmine.. it's become my favorite smell.."  Her forehead gently rested against Fleur's exposed back – who had reacted with a small shudder; Hermione smiled.  The heat of her cheeks wasn't compared to the warmth that was currently exhuded from Fleur.  

The young Auror's head turned, flushing her cheek to feel more of the woman, turning again.. her lips came into contact to the Witch's flesh; as she spoke.. her lips continued to brush over the canvas of Fleur's skin, leaving a trail of searing kisses that was beginning to drive Fleur _mad_.. Hermione's hands hadn't behaved; so with feather like touches, she began to _feel_ her dream..

"Home, it's said.. is where the heart is.." Hermione's fingers swam along the woman's back, "you _are_ home to me.. I.. realized it.. the day you left."  Again.. a smile crested over Hermione's lips feeling Fleur's body finally relax against her soon accompanied by the woman's hands reaching behind to pull her hands about her waist.

But words would have been wasted.  As then, reality came careening out of nowhere.  Just beyond the enchanted drapes screams were shot at from all sides.

"You stay away from there Ron!" cried Neville, "By GOD I swear!"

Having paid no heed, Ron shoved Neville aside sending him crashing into a potted plant, glowering, "A friend y'are Longbottom – next time, I reckon I'll not be _as_ charitable.."

Tearing onto the balcony his ire rose tenfold at the sight, "What're you.. DOING?!" he bellowed as he strode forth, snapping his hand outright, grabbing a healthy spill of Hermione's hair. Ron yanked her backward the sheer force threw her from her heels, sending her scathing along the hard cemented floor.

"R-Ron,  PLEASE!"

"SHUT UP!"

Unceremoniously, he tossed Hermione aside changing the focus of his fury; He hurtled himself at Fleur.  Who had whipped about to deflected Ron's first attempt, by a simple side-step.. her eyes scoured finding Hermione's prone form.. "Hermio--!!"  

Distracted, she hadn't seen it coming, Ron's knee thrusting INTO her gut, Fleur was winded; he peeled her head back burrowing his fire-lit eyes onto her.  

"Why Bill never put you in your _place_, I'll never understan'! He NEVER took his own advice!" Ron furiously spat, "Yuir jus' a poun' o'flesh! MOLDED.." he continued to rage as Fleur remained doubled over.

"HERMIONE!", yelled Neville.

Blurry eyed, the Muggle roused, drawing her eyes from the westling forms, towards Neville prying himself from the Bramble-Bush he was shoved onto, he was brandishing something slim in his left hand - Suddenly realizing what it was.. her own hand rose as Neville threw it.

The wand sailed into the air, wobbling maniacally, before Hermione cried out, "_Accio WAND!_"  She stood too quickly, her legs had buckled but she didn't care - still groggy she wiped the cobwebs from her eyes and pointed the wand dead center at what she _thought _was Ron's back.

"_Cenriza!_", cried Hermione – a flurry of pitch black smoke billowed forth from the tip of the wand blazing with inner heat as it charged at it's intended victim.  But because of her still-woozy state of mind, the spell slammed into the wall and a plant just behind the pair.  Both objects crumbling into ash.

Ron bobbled backward on his heels, taking cover as he then threw his arms over his head, once the plume of debris wilted away, he sniped his gaze onto Hermione, "Are you _insane??_  That would've bloody _killed _me!"

"Lay one hand on her again.. and I won't miss the second time..Bank on it, Ron.." Hermione leveled the wand in her shaky grasp while edging towards Fleur.  Her hand was groping about as her eyes trained on Ron's own then at the very tip of her fingers, Hermione felt Fleur's hair.  She stole a glance upon the woman, what had met her sight elicited a sharp intake of her breath.

Fleur's once illustrious mane was mixed with the grime that was on the sole of Ron's shoe and his spit as he was yelling at her.  Her breathing was labored, a pool of red and clear fluid lay where her mouth was, Hermione deduced that Fleur had vomited. 

"Neville!"  Hermione bent closer, pressing her forehead upon the back of the fallen witch's head, murmuring for forgivness over and over, her head peeled inclined piercing her watered eyes on Ron, "you –STAY- where you bullocking are!"

Neville hurried, undoing his jacket and laying it upon Fleur, "I.. I've got 'er 'Ermione.."

She rose after Neville had managed to ease Fleur on her feet.  "..Where.. where are you goin'??"  a trace of panic was hinted on Ron's words – he quickly realized the intonation and countered that with, "..You walk out on me, 'Ermione..  we're.. we're _through!_"

Hermione paused, lifting her eyes to regard Ron; she mopped her eyes free from the tear-stains and replied simply..

"..Good-bye, Ron.."

--

A crowd had been drawn at the balcony, but in the fore was the Weasley bunch, mouths agape.  Bill and Charlie hurried in, offering to aid Neville – It was Bill who had looked at Hermione, stammering, "..I – I hadn't.. known he would 'ave, I'm.. I'm sorry 'Ermione."  She noticed his gaze floundered every now and again towards Fleur – his face beet red.

She had no more words left, Harry and Ginny both moved towards her, but she shook her head stepping from them and murmured for them to care for Ron. "He'll be needing it.."  Hermione couldn't face them.. not yet.  Mopping her face with the back of her hand, she hurried to find Neville and be at Fleur's side.

He settled Fleur into the hallway leading into the restrooms -  with curiosities peaked there was a constant flittering about them, heads poking in and out and questions shot off left and right.  Caring as he could for the beleaguered French Witch, Neville rounded on the next persons that blathered on and on.

"Git out o'ere!  'N give it a res' now!" roared Neville; taking the party of his former Hogwarts school friends Parvati, Seamus, and Dean off guard.

"Goodness," squeaked Parvati.

"..It's us Neville, mate!" slighted Dean.

"Kinnae y'give us th' scoop then?? Wha's 'appened?" pressed Seamus.

"If y'can't see it with yuir own daft eyes, th' woman's been 'urt!  LEAVE," spat Neville venomously.

They looked at one another, before being gently pushed aside as Hermione entered the foray.  With a soft utterance that fell from her lips, they silenced.

"please.. please.. just leave us be."  She continued forth, as the sea of bodies slowly trickled away while Neville remained guard.  

When he turned about, Hermione was seen knelt before Fleur, cupping both of the French Woman's hands in her own as her face nuzzled into the flat of Fleur's palms.  Quietly.. Neville took his leave.

There was nothing said for some time.  Save for the sudden swell of choking sobs that began to elicit forth from Hermione's throat, joined soon with the wet of her tears.  Fleur curled her fingers gently, tracing idle circles about the Muggle's flesh.

"..He could have done anything.. anything to me.. and I wouldn't have felt it.. I wouldn't have cared.. But.. but.. the moment he laid his hand on you.. I couldn't have him.. _touch_ you again.."

"..You did what you felt you 'ad to do, ma chere." Fleur gently urged Hermione to raise her head, meeting the younger woman's gaze steadily, "You.. _rescued_ me."

Immediately, Hermione shook her head in negation, bringing herself more up-right upon her knees, meeting those cerulean storms. 

"No.  I didn't.  I.. It took everything to have me _see_; I  _let _you get hurt; in the end.. it was _you _who _saved _me."  Bringing the back of Fleur's hand to her cheek, Hermione nuzzled the elder woman's flesh, before easing forth one of her hands to swipe away the debris from Fleur's chin.

"Merci.." mewled Fleur, swallowing with though much difficulty. Her eyes screwed shut after having tasted that familiar copper flow to the back of her throat, "I sink.. I should take my leave, oui?  Some'ow – I feel az if I am not properly dressed.."

Hermione chuckled dryly, through a gloss of saline.

Fleur labored to her feet – but quickly, was lent aid via Neville's support, who came running in after a quick check. "Merci, m'sieur Longbottom.." He nodded. Fleur's head then inclined towards the nearest illuminated timepiece.  Hermione's gaze followed suit.

"..Am.. am I _late_, Fleur.." rasped Hermione.

Fleur listed her had to one side, crafting careful words in her mind before tendering forth her reply..

"In ze wizarding world.. Time is inconsequential.." a pause before lifting her hand outward towards Hermione, "..I zis matter.. I sink you are right on _time._"

--

_Epilogue_

_It was a time before Ron Weasley accepted what happened.  Last I heard.. he took to seeing a Mind Fixer – at least that's what I call it.  Hermione though corrected me on many a time – Psycholo-Git.  Something like that._

_The rest of the Weasleys.. Is another story.  Hermione was hurt by the estrangement, but.. what was surprising was the first to reach was Ron.  In letters as it may be.  Never asked what they were about, but I can hear Fleur and she talk about it at night.  I reckon he wants her back._

_I look at the two of them -  Yeah, they're happy.  But not a one has uttered those three words yet.  It's like they're afraid.  But anyone who ain't daft, can very well see it in the way the talk, and look at the other._

_I get jealous, but.. it's not a big deal; after all.. I finally took up my courage and wrote up Gabrielle – She's no Fleur.. but no one really is now is they?_

_Och, they're calling – Nothing like being lost along the Orinoco, with two extremely able women.  But it gets a mite tiresome being called to mule-pack while they.. hehe, 'Talk' things over.  Thank God for Canvass tents._

_Not that I'm complaining, much._

_Neville Longbottom, esq._

_Orinoco, Amazones – tent 2_

_Of the Unknown._

--

And that.. is that.  Hope you enjoyed – if not, I'm sure you'll let me know.  I do plan to write more.. just not sure what of, if you've ideas.. feel free to drop me a line.


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